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海邊的卡夫卡 上+下
長大，是幻滅的開始？還是通往另一個新世界的入口？
跟著十五歲少年田村卡夫卡的腳步，穿越現實與夢的邊界
找尋丟失的自己與錯過的時間……
二○一九年，村上春樹創作邁入第四十個年頭，正如他在接受日本《共同社》的專訪中自承，「每十年都是一個轉捩點。」而出版於二○○二年的《海邊的卡夫卡》，正是他第三個十年時期的長篇代表作，當年，五十歲的村上春樹，寫出了十五歲的田村卡夫卡的成長故事，從書名和主角名字，都明顯地向村上喜歡的存在主義作家卡夫卡致敬，也帶出了這一本充滿存在主義虛無色彩的精采小說。此次時報在村上創作四十週年之際，推出《海邊的卡夫卡》首度改版，除了換上更有現代感的精緻書封，內文也經過重新審校，讓部分譯文更為精準，改頭換面的版面也更適於閱讀。
小說主人翁是一位自稱名叫田村卡夫卡的少年，在十五歲生日來臨前，決定離家出走，去尋找幼年時帶走姊姊卻拋下他而離家的母親。喜愛閱讀的他為了消磨時間進入了一間專門研究古代詩歌的私人圖書館，因緣際會在圖書館內展開新的生活，並開啟了一段漫無章法，卻又充滿起伏的奇幻之旅。小說中偶爾還會出現一位名叫烏鴉的少年和田村卡夫卡對話，卡夫卡的捷克原文也正有「烏鴉」的意思，這位名叫烏鴉的少年是真實存在？還是只是田村卡夫卡失落的另一個自己呢？
故事採雙線進行，另一邊的主角是一位能與貓對話的中田先生，年幼時曾在山梨縣中遭遇不知名的意外事故，昏迷3周之後才清醒，雖然意識和身體恢復了，卻喪失了先前一切的記憶，語言與識字能力也自此消失，但也開啟了能與貓溝通的天賦，因而經常接受街坊鄰居的委託尋找失落的貓咪。某日，在結束尋找貓咪的任務後，便突然開啟了未知的旅程，在青年星野的協助下，為了找出「入口的石頭」、以及尋找與世界相連的地點。而神秘的關鍵人物指引兩人前往的黑暗世界裡是否也有出口？
兩段看似無關的生命探索旅程，却在無形中慢慢的交會成為交互影響彼此的關鍵。
誰也不知道，記憶能以正確的形式留到什麼時候。
河合隼雄說得好：「這部小說描述的就是現代人各自的成年禮故事。」讓我們跟著十五歲少年田村卡夫卡的腳步，穿越現實與夢的邊界，找尋曾經丟失的自己與錯過的時間。
跟著十五歲少年田村卡夫卡的腳步，穿越現實與夢的邊界
找尋丟失的自己與錯過的時間……
二○一九年，村上春樹創作邁入第四十個年頭，正如他在接受日本《共同社》的專訪中自承，「每十年都是一個轉捩點。」而出版於二○○二年的《海邊的卡夫卡》，正是他第三個十年時期的長篇代表作，當年，五十歲的村上春樹，寫出了十五歲的田村卡夫卡的成長故事，從書名和主角名字，都明顯地向村上喜歡的存在主義作家卡夫卡致敬，也帶出了這一本充滿存在主義虛無色彩的精采小說。此次時報在村上創作四十週年之際，推出《海邊的卡夫卡》首度改版，除了換上更有現代感的精緻書封，內文也經過重新審校，讓部分譯文更為精準，改頭換面的版面也更適於閱讀。
小說主人翁是一位自稱名叫田村卡夫卡的少年，在十五歲生日來臨前，決定離家出走，去尋找幼年時帶走姊姊卻拋下他而離家的母親。喜愛閱讀的他為了消磨時間進入了一間專門研究古代詩歌的私人圖書館，因緣際會在圖書館內展開新的生活，並開啟了一段漫無章法，卻又充滿起伏的奇幻之旅。小說中偶爾還會出現一位名叫烏鴉的少年和田村卡夫卡對話，卡夫卡的捷克原文也正有「烏鴉」的意思，這位名叫烏鴉的少年是真實存在？還是只是田村卡夫卡失落的另一個自己呢？
故事採雙線進行，另一邊的主角是一位能與貓對話的中田先生，年幼時曾在山梨縣中遭遇不知名的意外事故，昏迷3周之後才清醒，雖然意識和身體恢復了，卻喪失了先前一切的記憶，語言與識字能力也自此消失，但也開啟了能與貓溝通的天賦，因而經常接受街坊鄰居的委託尋找失落的貓咪。某日，在結束尋找貓咪的任務後，便突然開啟了未知的旅程，在青年星野的協助下，為了找出「入口的石頭」、以及尋找與世界相連的地點。而神秘的關鍵人物指引兩人前往的黑暗世界裡是否也有出口？
兩段看似無關的生命探索旅程，却在無形中慢慢的交會成為交互影響彼此的關鍵。
誰也不知道，記憶能以正確的形式留到什麼時候。
河合隼雄說得好：「這部小說描述的就是現代人各自的成年禮故事。」讓我們跟著十五歲少年田村卡夫卡的腳步，穿越現實與夢的邊界，找尋曾經丟失的自己與錯過的時間。
704 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 2002
About the author
Haruki Murakami
652 books137k followersHaruki Murakami (村上春樹) is a Japanese writer. His novels, essays, and short stories have been best-sellers in Japan and internationally, with his work translated into 50 languages and having sold millions of copies outside Japan. He has received numerous awards for his work, including the Gunzo Prize for New Writers, the World Fantasy Award, the Tanizaki Prize, Yomiuri Prize for Literature, the Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award, the Noma Literary Prize, the Franz Kafka Prize, the Kiriyama Prize for Fiction, the Goodreads Choice Awards for Best Fiction, the Jerusalem Prize, and the Princess of Asturias Awards.
Growing up in Ashiya, near Kobe before moving to Tokyo to attend Waseda University, he published his first novel Hear the Wind Sing (1979) after working as the owner of a small jazz bar for seven years. His notable works include the novels Norwegian Wood (1987), The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (1994–95), Kafka on the Shore (2002) and 1Q84 (2009–10); the last was ranked as the best work of Japan's Heisei era (1989–2019) by the national newspaper Asahi Shimbun's survey of literary experts. His work spans genres including science fiction, fantasy, and crime fiction, and has become known for his use of magical realist elements. His official website cites Raymond Chandler, Kurt Vonnegut and Richard Brautigan as key inspirations to his work, while Murakami himself has named Kazuo Ishiguro, Cormac McCarthy and Dag Solstad as his favourite currently active writers. Murakami has also published five short story collections, including First Person Singular (2020), and non-fiction works including Underground (1997), an oral history of the Tokyo subway sarin attack, and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (2007), a memoir about his experience as a long distance runner.
His fiction has polarized literary critics and the reading public. He has sometimes been criticised by Japan's literary establishment as un-Japanese, leading to Murakami's recalling that he was a "black sheep in the Japanese literary world". Meanwhile, Murakami has been described by Gary Fisketjon, the editor of Murakami's collection The Elephant Vanishes (1993), as a "truly extraordinary writer", while Steven Poole of The Guardian praised Murakami as "among the world's greatest living novelists" for his oeuvre.
Growing up in Ashiya, near Kobe before moving to Tokyo to attend Waseda University, he published his first novel Hear the Wind Sing (1979) after working as the owner of a small jazz bar for seven years. His notable works include the novels Norwegian Wood (1987), The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (1994–95), Kafka on the Shore (2002) and 1Q84 (2009–10); the last was ranked as the best work of Japan's Heisei era (1989–2019) by the national newspaper Asahi Shimbun's survey of literary experts. His work spans genres including science fiction, fantasy, and crime fiction, and has become known for his use of magical realist elements. His official website cites Raymond Chandler, Kurt Vonnegut and Richard Brautigan as key inspirations to his work, while Murakami himself has named Kazuo Ishiguro, Cormac McCarthy and Dag Solstad as his favourite currently active writers. Murakami has also published five short story collections, including First Person Singular (2020), and non-fiction works including Underground (1997), an oral history of the Tokyo subway sarin attack, and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (2007), a memoir about his experience as a long distance runner.
His fiction has polarized literary critics and the reading public. He has sometimes been criticised by Japan's literary establishment as un-Japanese, leading to Murakami's recalling that he was a "black sheep in the Japanese literary world". Meanwhile, Murakami has been described by Gary Fisketjon, the editor of Murakami's collection The Elephant Vanishes (1993), as a "truly extraordinary writer", while Steven Poole of The Guardian praised Murakami as "among the world's greatest living novelists" for his oeuvre.
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October 18, 2016
أغلب اصدقائي بدأوا الريفيو ب"ناكاتا ليس ذكيا"و"عقل ناكاتا لا يحتمل كل هذا"..حسنا
بعد قراءة الاحداث الغرائبية بل والسريالية احيانا, أشعر بـ انني قد تحولت الي ناكاتا
إنها قصه كافكا الشاب الذي هرب من بيت أبيه هربا من لعنة سوداء ستتحقق
وناكاتا العجوز الذي يحب الحنكليس ويتحدث الي القطط ويبحث عن نصف ظله الاخر
وربما اجمل مافي رحلة كافكا هي الحوار الثقافي الفني بالمكتبة الرائعة, وإن طال
ولكن الامور تتأزم وتزداد غرابة وغموض ودموية..لكافكا من جهه وناكاتا من اخري
ثم تزداد الاحداث الغريبة والسريالية في رحلة البحث عن الحقيقة, اصل اللعنة..اصل الشخصية نفسها, وأصل الظل..في رحلتين منفصلتين متصلتين لكل من كافكا و ناكاتا..الأول يهرب من لعنة ابيه ليجد انه يهرب اليها والاخر يذهب في رحلة طويلة للبحث عن نصف ظله الاخر مع رفيق يمنحه رحلة تغير حياته
وماذا يربط بين كل هذا؟ ماهو حجر المدخل؟ كيف فقد ناكاتا ظله؟ ولماذا؟
يجب ان تظل مع كافكا وناكاتا حتي نهاية الرحلة كي تعرف..
لتصل الي الحقيقة وراء حجر المدخل..ولكنك ستكون مرهقا بحق كهذه الصورة بالظبط
ولكني لست مرهقا, بل مشتتا ومتحيرا..لم افهم الكثير من الاحداث السريالية والرموز التي بالطبع لم استطع فك شفرتها..اشعر اني فعلا صرت كالسيد ناكتاكا, بل والادهي اشعر اني فقدت القدرة علي الحديث مع سوزي !!!! قطتي البيضاء التي تساعدني في كتابة الريفيو, انها كالفتي المدعو كرو بالنسبة لي
لقد تسببت الاحداث السريالية المبتورة بعضها او التي انتهت دون تفسير واضح او حتي مبهم في حيرتي,وحتي بحثت عن ولو تفسير بسيط دون جدوي بالرغم من البحث والبحث والبحث
وبهذه المناسبة يجب ان اشير الي ان الرسومات الرائعة في البداية هي لفنانة متميزة وجدت موقعها بالصدفة وقت البحث وهذا موقعها من هناا
Lisa Ito, is the young super talented illustrator of the pictures of the novel at the beginning of the review ,you can know more about her and her amazing site for the novel here
الاحداث بعضها مثير فعلا، ولاهث وعجيب
وإن كان ظل أغلبه بلا معني في الصورة الكاملة للاسف...ربما هو رمزي لظروف ما باليابان، وصراع بين القديم والحديث...صراع في الحياة من بعد الحرب العالمية الثانية وسقوط القنبلة النووية الأمريكية علي اليابان
ربما هي عن الحياة في اليابان بين الماضي والامبراطورية اليابانية وبين الحاضر...ربما وربما وربما ولكني للأسف فعلا لم أستطع أستيعابها كاملة
ربما فعلا وجدت هذا التفسير هنا واخر هناك حول تشبيه بعض الشخصيات باليابان قبل الحرب العالمية الثانيه وبعدها, ولكنها كلها لا تزيد عن تخمينات او تكهنات
البعض يقول ان هوشينو, السائق البسيط الذي يصطحب ناكاتا في رحلته هو الشباب الياباني بعد الحرب, وجوني ووكر او الاب او ذلك الغريب الذي يبحث عن البوق الذي يحصد الارواح -الحرب- هو ...لا اعرف حقا..اشعر ان بعض التحليلات لم تخطر ببال هاروكي نفسه
عاما لقد توقفت عن البحث الان ..وساستعير هذه الكلمات لتعبر عن رايي في التشبيهات والرموز السريالية بالرواية, كلمات من الرواية نفسها..اغلبها ل..ناكاتا بالطبع والتي كانت محقة فعلا في وصف احداث الرواية نفسها
او ذلك الحوار الكوميدي بين هوشينو صديقه وكولونيل كنتاكي الشهير "بتاع الفراخ , انا لم اخطئ في الكتابة اذا لم تقرأ الرواية"
حسنا.. لقد كان التفكير بالنسبة لي في بعض احداث الرواية بالضبط كمحاولة تفسيري -دون اي دراسة للفنون لهذه اللوحه
ولكن هذا ليس معناه اني لا احب هذا النوع من الاحداث الغريبه...بالعكس فقرائتي السابقة كانت مائة عام من العزلة..الواقعية السحرية, وكانت من امتع قرائتي
ولكن كما قلت للرواية بعض الجوانب الجيدة, مبدئيا ستشعر فعلا انك في صالون ثقافي ادبي تستمتع لحوار حول ادباء واعمال ادبية خالدة ليس الادب الياباني فحسب وانما عالمي
في ذلك الحوار الذي يدور دائما بين كافكا وأوشيما ,أمين/ة المكتبة, أو حتي هوشينو وشخصيات اخري حول الفن والموسيقي والافلام عاما..فجو المكتبة كان جميلا بحق وتلك الجولة في اشهر الروائع الادبية والفنية
فقط يعيبه انه كان طويلا احيانا, مستفيضا جدا احيانا اخري, وبعض الوقت مملا,وان لم يفق وصف جولات كافكا في الغابة وحده "واعضاءه" مللا
وقد تعجبت جدا في جزء ما وتمنيت الا يحدث في نهايه تلك الرواية ما تم ذكره عن احد الاعمال الادبيه في ربع الرواية الاول ..ما قاله/ته أوشيما عن رواية عامل المنجم لناتسومي سوسيكي
ولكن في نفس الوقت فلا أنكر اني استمتعت بأن يكون بطل الرواية شغوفا بالقراءه لهذا الحد, ووصفه للقراءه عاما يتناسب معي جدا جدا جدا ,ولطالما تحدثت عنه في بعض الريفيوهات
وبالرغم من تطبيقي لهذه المقولة الاخيرة اثناء قرائتي لتلك الرواية, الا انها لسهولة لغتها بحق -يحسب تماما للروائي طبعا وللمترجمة ايضا في نفس الوقت- كانت تنتهي مني بسرعة..ورغم ذلك لم استعب كل شئ حتي الان
وبالرغم من ان الجزء في البداية الخاص بالتحقيقات جعلني اشعر انها كحلقات
The X-Files
وهي حلقاتي المفضلة اساسا, وعشقي للغرائبية الشديدة في بعض الاحيان حتي مثلا شعرت ان الاجواء كاجواء افلام ديفيد لينش "والذي استمتعت جدا بجو طريق موهلاند, والذي يحتوي علي بعض عناصر نفس تلك الرواية"
و بالرغم من استمتاعي الشديد جدا بفكرة ناكاتا ومحادثته للقطط
حسنا يجب ان اعترف انني احب القطط وكنت اعشق "وعشت" مغامرة بكوميكس في سن العاشرة لم أمل من تكرارها وهيرحلة القط مشمش
ولكني فعلا شعرت بشئ من الاحباط لتداعي القصة بطريقة لم ترق لي مبالغ في غرائبيتها ولم تكن الخيوط التي تربط الشخصيات بالقوة التي كنت متوقعها
فمثلا موهبة التحدث للقطط, غير مفهوم كيف انتهت..التحقيقات, لم تنتهي بنفس القوة التي بدأت بها
لا اتحدث عن الغرائبية الزائده او شئ من السريالية فكما جاء علي لسان احد الشخصيات
بالعكس راق لي بعض الاشياء المعتوهه بالاحداث "فكما قلت احب الغرائبيات" ولكني لم افهمها في كثير من الاحيان..وبعضها كان مبتورا او بدون مغزي
ومره اخري اقتبس من الاحداث
وبصراحة..ووجهه نظري هي
كم من مسدس ظهر في تلك الرواية..لم يطلق حتي صوتا
حسنا, أعتقد أنني اطلت كثيرا :) ,لقد نامت سوزي وقت كتابتي الريفيو
وهنا يجب ان اذكر وجهه نظر اخري في موضوع الوصف الايروتيكي الزائد في بعض تفاصيل الرواية ,فأنا كـ"ناكاتا" راق لي هووس ناكاتا بالحنكليس وأكل الحنكليس
فكما بجانب الحوار الثقافي الادبي الفني السينمائي ستجد ايضا حوار عن الطعام ومأكولات يابانية ممتاز بحق
وقد أكل ناكاتا الحنكليس اكثر من مرة بالروايه واعلن شغفه له تقريبا في كل مره يتحدث عن الطعام.."بطريقة ساخرة وجميلة جدا" لدرجة انه اجبرني علي الذهاب لمطعم السوشي في نص الشهر "بعد نفاذ المرتب تقريبا" لتناول طبقا من الاوناجي سوشي -او ما يعرف بالإييل نيجيري او الحنكليس :)"
ولكن طوال الاحداث لم تجد وصف كيف قام ناكاتا بوضع قطعة لحم الحنكليس علي لسانه وكيف سال لعابه عليها قبل ان يضم شفتيه علي القطعة نفسها,ولبمضغه مضغتان بسيطتان بالاسنان ليذوب لحم الحنكليس المطهو جيدا -حيث انه من المأكولات البحرية القليلة جدا التي لا تقدم نيئة تماما في السوشي- مخلفا طعما شهيا لاذعا لذعة بحرية ,ليبتلعه ويشعر بالسعادة ..ثم بعد..
حسنا حسنا اعلم اني تماديت, هذا لم يحدث في الرواية فوصفا كهذا مفروغا منه..يكفي ان نعرف انه يحب الحنكليس جدا, واكل احنكليس في بعض المرات خلال الاحداث
حسنا, كنت اتمني ان يحدث نفس الاختزال بالنسبه للمشاهد الجنسية..هل تفهم قصدي؟
بالنسبة لكافكا, انه حدث الجنس مع كذا ومع كذا وكان جميلا او غريبا او ايا كان الموقف,ولكن الاسهاب في السرد, وايضا بالاخص الاجزاء الخاصة بوصف الاعضاء كان مملا للغاية, وفي غير مكانه علي ما اعتقد بالنسبة للرواية الغير مصنفة علي انها ايروتيكية
هذه كانت النقطة الاخيرة في الريفيو الطويل الملائم لرواية طويلة مرهقه الي حد ما
ربما تقييمي لها بنجمتين جاء بسبب كل ماسبق,ربما لانني لم افهمها وتحولت الي ناكاتا أخر
ربما لان في منتصف الاحداث كان سقف توقعاتي يعلو ويعلو لدرجة طموحي في ماستر سين
Master-scene
او مشهد ذروة قبل النهاية يجتمع فيه اهم الابطال يلقون بتفسيرات او يفجرون مفاجأت لبعضهم البعض مثلا,ويمسك ناكاتا رأسه بيديه متألما من الاحداث المتلاحقة ليئن ويقول
ولكن هذا للاسف لم يحدث..وكانت الخلاصات التي خرجت منها بالرواية قليلة لانني لم افهمها..فعقلي لم يتحمل كل هذا
هكذا قالت ميس سايكي , تلك الشخصية الغامضة..وهكذا شعرت بالنهاية..انا لم احب الكتاب وقيمته هكذا لاني لم اخرج منه بخلاصة
ولكن لا يمنع هذا انها كانت رحلة من نوع خاص
وربما اعاودها مرة اخري -ولكن بقراءه سريعة المرة القادمة- بعدما اقرأ اكثر حول التاريخ الياباني وتطورات مجتمعه من خلال روايات من الادب الياباني اخري ,فكافكا علي الشاطئ اول قرائتي في الادب الياباني
ولا تدع في النهاية تقييمي يبعدك عن قراءه الرواية..فالكثير من الاصدقاء استمتعوا بها اكثر مني كما يبدو , وهي رحلة فعلا اعتقد انها تستحق القراءه فبعض احداثها كان ممتعا بالنسبة لي
وسأختتم ايضا كما فعلت طوال ذلك الريفيو بتلك الجملتين الانسب للختام
الزمن..اه من الزمن
كانت تلك الرواية التالية لرواية زمنية اخري عشقتها وتحدثت عن الزمن في الريفيو الخاص بها وهي مائة عام من العزلة
وربما لهذا هذا الجزء اعجبني جدا ايضا لميس سايكي عن الذكريات والزمن
حسنا...اعتقد فعلا ان هذه الرحلة بالرغم من كل شئ, لن انساها
محمد العربي
من 4 مايو 2014
الي 8 مايو 2014
"الريفيو في 27-29 مايو 2014"
بعد قراءة الاحداث الغرائبية بل والسريالية احيانا, أشعر بـ انني قد تحولت الي ناكاتا
إنها قصه كافكا الشاب الذي هرب من بيت أبيه هربا من لعنة سوداء ستتحقق
وناكاتا العجوز الذي يحب الحنكليس ويتحدث الي القطط ويبحث عن نصف ظله الاخر
وربما اجمل مافي رحلة كافكا هي الحوار الثقافي الفني بالمكتبة الرائعة, وإن طال
ولكن الامور تتأزم وتزداد غرابة وغموض ودموية..لكافكا من جهه وناكاتا من اخري
ثم تزداد الاحداث الغريبة والسريالية في رحلة البحث عن الحقيقة, اصل اللعنة..اصل الشخصية نفسها, وأصل الظل..في رحلتين منفصلتين متصلتين لكل من كافكا و ناكاتا..الأول يهرب من لعنة ابيه ليجد انه يهرب اليها والاخر يذهب في رحلة طويلة للبحث عن نصف ظله الاخر مع رفيق يمنحه رحلة تغير حياته
وماذا يربط بين كل هذا؟ ماهو حجر المدخل؟ كيف فقد ناكاتا ظله؟ ولماذا؟
يجب ان تظل مع كافكا وناكاتا حتي نهاية الرحلة كي تعرف..
لتصل الي الحقيقة وراء حجر المدخل..ولكنك ستكون مرهقا بحق كهذه الصورة بالظبط
ولكني لست مرهقا, بل مشتتا ومتحيرا..لم افهم الكثير من الاحداث السريالية والرموز التي بالطبع لم استطع فك شفرتها..اشعر اني فعلا صرت كالسيد ناكتاكا, بل والادهي اشعر اني فقدت القدرة علي الحديث مع سوزي !!!! قطتي البيضاء التي تساعدني في كتابة الريفيو, انها كالفتي المدعو كرو بالنسبة لي
لقد تسببت الاحداث السريالية المبتورة بعضها او التي انتهت دون تفسير واضح او حتي مبهم في حيرتي,وحتي بحثت عن ولو تفسير بسيط دون جدوي بالرغم من البحث والبحث والبحث
وبهذه المناسبة يجب ان اشير الي ان الرسومات الرائعة في البداية هي لفنانة متميزة وجدت موقعها بالصدفة وقت البحث وهذا موقعها من هناا
Lisa Ito, is the young super talented illustrator of the pictures of the novel at the beginning of the review ,you can know more about her and her amazing site for the novel here
الاحداث بعضها مثير فعلا، ولاهث وعجيب
وإن كان ظل أغلبه بلا معني في الصورة الكاملة للاسف...ربما هو رمزي لظروف ما باليابان، وصراع بين القديم والحديث...صراع في الحياة من بعد الحرب العالمية الثانية وسقوط القنبلة النووية الأمريكية علي اليابان
ربما هي عن الحياة في اليابان بين الماضي والامبراطورية اليابانية وبين الحاضر...ربما وربما وربما ولكني للأسف فعلا لم أستطع أستيعابها كاملة
ربما فعلا وجدت هذا التفسير هنا واخر هناك حول تشبيه بعض الشخصيات باليابان قبل الحرب العالمية الثانيه وبعدها, ولكنها كلها لا تزيد عن تخمينات او تكهنات
البعض يقول ان هوشينو, السائق البسيط الذي يصطحب ناكاتا في رحلته هو الشباب الياباني بعد الحرب, وجوني ووكر او الاب او ذلك الغريب الذي يبحث عن البوق الذي يحصد الارواح -الحرب- هو ...لا اعرف حقا..اشعر ان بعض التحليلات لم تخطر ببال هاروكي نفسه
عاما لقد توقفت عن البحث الان ..وساستعير هذه الكلمات لتعبر عن رايي في التشبيهات والرموز السريالية بالرواية, كلمات من الرواية نفسها..اغلبها ل..ناكاتا بالطبع والتي كانت محقة فعلا في وصف احداث الرواية نفسها
" من الأفضل ألا أحاول العثور على المنطق”
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لا يجب عليك ان تفكر في اشياء صعبة, فقط دع نفسك تتخللها وتنغمس بها.بالنسبة لناكاتا لا شئ يمكن ان يكون افضل من ذلك
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او ذلك الحوار الكوميدي بين هوشينو صديقه وكولونيل كنتاكي الشهير "بتاع الفراخ , انا لم اخطئ في الكتابة اذا لم تقرأ الرواية"
قال هوشينو : عموما لقد قررت ألا أفكر في الأمور كثيرا, لقد عشت نوعا من الخلاص الليلة الماضية. كنت أتعامل مع توافه الأمور بجدية فائقة - مضيعة حقيقية للوقت
-خلاصة حكيمة جدا, فالمثل يقول تفكير بلا جدوي أسوأ من عدم التفكير
-يعجبني هذا القول
-له معان كثيرة ألا توافقني الرأي
-وهل سمعت هذا القول :"سدينا شط السيد والسيد ما سد شطنا"؟
-وما معني هذا القول اللعين أصلا؟
-لقد أخترعته, لخبطة لسان لا أكثر
حسنا.. لقد كان التفكير بالنسبة لي في بعض احداث الرواية بالضبط كمحاولة تفسيري -دون اي دراسة للفنون لهذه اللوحه
ولكن هذا ليس معناه اني لا احب هذا النوع من الاحداث الغريبه...بالعكس فقرائتي السابقة كانت مائة عام من العزلة..الواقعية السحرية, وكانت من امتع قرائتي
ولكن كما قلت للرواية بعض الجوانب الجيدة, مبدئيا ستشعر فعلا انك في صالون ثقافي ادبي تستمتع لحوار حول ادباء واعمال ادبية خالدة ليس الادب الياباني فحسب وانما عالمي
في ذلك الحوار الذي يدور دائما بين كافكا وأوشيما ,أمين/ة المكتبة, أو حتي هوشينو وشخصيات اخري حول الفن والموسيقي والافلام عاما..فجو المكتبة كان جميلا بحق وتلك الجولة في اشهر الروائع الادبية والفنية
فقط يعيبه انه كان طويلا احيانا, مستفيضا جدا احيانا اخري, وبعض الوقت مملا,وان لم يفق وصف جولات كافكا في الغابة وحده "واعضاءه" مللا
وقد تعجبت جدا في جزء ما وتمنيت الا يحدث في نهايه تلك الرواية ما تم ذكره عن احد الاعمال الادبيه في ربع الرواية الاول ..ما قاله/ته أوشيما عن رواية عامل المنجم لناتسومي سوسيكي
"تلك التجارب التي يمر بها في المنجم هي تجارب يمتزج فيها الموت بالحياة . وفي النهاية يخرج من المنجم ويعود الي حياته القديمة, من دون أي إشارة ألي انه تعلم شيئا من تلك التجربة أو حدث تغيير في حياته, أو أنه بدأ يفكر بعمق في معني الحياة ,ولا يصل إليك كذلك أي إحساس بأنه نضجحسنا...لم يصل الامر لهذا الحد وأن كان قريبا منها نوعا ما بالنسبه لي..فشعرت ان الرواية فعلا كجزء ثاني من عامل المنجم..لن تعرف ما الذي كان يريد ان يقوله هاروكي موراكامي من اجمالي هذه الرحله
وأنما ينتابك بعد أن تنهي الرواية أحساس غريب ,وكأنك تتعجب : ما الذي كان سوسيكي يحاول قوله ؟ إنه هذا الأحساس -بأنك لا تعرف بالضبط ما الذي كان يريد سوسيكي قوله- هو الذي يبقي معك بعد قراءة الرواية, لا أستطيع أن أوضح جيدا"
ولكن في نفس الوقت فلا أنكر اني استمتعت بأن يكون بطل الرواية شغوفا بالقراءه لهذا الحد, ووصفه للقراءه عاما يتناسب معي جدا جدا جدا ,ولطالما تحدثت عنه في بعض الريفيوهات
“يبدأ العالم الحقيقي في التبخر من ذهني. أصبح وحيداً. داخل القصة. وهذا إحساسي المفضل”
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“لا أندفع في القراءة كأنني في سباق, بل أعيد قراءة الأجزاء التي أعتقد أنها الأهم حتى أفهم مغزاها”
وبالرغم من تطبيقي لهذه المقولة الاخيرة اثناء قرائتي لتلك الرواية, الا انها لسهولة لغتها بحق -يحسب تماما للروائي طبعا وللمترجمة ايضا في نفس الوقت- كانت تنتهي مني بسرعة..ورغم ذلك لم استعب كل شئ حتي الان
عقل ناكاتا لا يحتمل كل هذا
وبالرغم من ان الجزء في البداية الخاص بالتحقيقات جعلني اشعر انها كحلقات
The X-Files
وهي حلقاتي المفضلة اساسا, وعشقي للغرائبية الشديدة في بعض الاحيان حتي مثلا شعرت ان الاجواء كاجواء افلام ديفيد لينش "والذي استمتعت جدا بجو طريق موهلاند, والذي يحتوي علي بعض عناصر نفس تلك الرواية"
و بالرغم من استمتاعي الشديد جدا بفكرة ناكاتا ومحادثته للقطط
حسنا يجب ان اعترف انني احب القطط وكنت اعشق "وعشت" مغامرة بكوميكس في سن العاشرة لم أمل من تكرارها وهيرحلة القط مشمش
ولكني فعلا شعرت بشئ من الاحباط لتداعي القصة بطريقة لم ترق لي مبالغ في غرائبيتها ولم تكن الخيوط التي تربط الشخصيات بالقوة التي كنت متوقعها
فمثلا موهبة التحدث للقطط, غير مفهوم كيف انتهت..التحقيقات, لم تنتهي بنفس القوة التي بدأت بها
لا اتحدث عن الغرائبية الزائده او شئ من السريالية فكما جاء علي لسان احد الشخصيات
“أنا لست ضد الأشياء المعتوهة كليّاً”
بالعكس راق لي بعض الاشياء المعتوهه بالاحداث "فكما قلت احب الغرائبيات" ولكني لم افهمها في كثير من الاحيان..وبعضها كان مبتورا او بدون مغزي
ومره اخري اقتبس من الاحداث
لقد عبر أنطون تشيخوف علي أفضل نحو عندما قال : إذا ظهر مسدس في قصة ما, فسيكون من الضروري في النهاية أن يطلق النار
وبصراحة..ووجهه نظري هي
كم من مسدس ظهر في تلك الرواية..لم يطلق حتي صوتا
حسنا, أعتقد أنني اطلت كثيرا :) ,لقد نامت سوزي وقت كتابتي الريفيو
وهنا يجب ان اذكر وجهه نظر اخري في موضوع الوصف الايروتيكي الزائد في بعض تفاصيل الرواية ,فأنا كـ"ناكاتا" راق لي هووس ناكاتا بالحنكليس وأكل الحنكليس
فكما بجانب الحوار الثقافي الادبي الفني السينمائي ستجد ايضا حوار عن الطعام ومأكولات يابانية ممتاز بحق
وقد أكل ناكاتا الحنكليس اكثر من مرة بالروايه واعلن شغفه له تقريبا في كل مره يتحدث عن الطعام.."بطريقة ساخرة وجميلة جدا" لدرجة انه اجبرني علي الذهاب لمطعم السوشي في نص الشهر "بعد نفاذ المرتب تقريبا" لتناول طبقا من الاوناجي سوشي -او ما يعرف بالإييل نيجيري او الحنكليس :)"
ولكن طوال الاحداث لم تجد وصف كيف قام ناكاتا بوضع قطعة لحم الحنكليس علي لسانه وكيف سال لعابه عليها قبل ان يضم شفتيه علي القطعة نفسها,ولبمضغه مضغتان بسيطتان بالاسنان ليذوب لحم الحنكليس المطهو جيدا -حيث انه من المأكولات البحرية القليلة جدا التي لا تقدم نيئة تماما في السوشي- مخلفا طعما شهيا لاذعا لذعة بحرية ,ليبتلعه ويشعر بالسعادة ..ثم بعد..
حسنا حسنا اعلم اني تماديت, هذا لم يحدث في الرواية فوصفا كهذا مفروغا منه..يكفي ان نعرف انه يحب الحنكليس جدا, واكل احنكليس في بعض المرات خلال الاحداث
حسنا, كنت اتمني ان يحدث نفس الاختزال بالنسبه للمشاهد الجنسية..هل تفهم قصدي؟
بالنسبة لكافكا, انه حدث الجنس مع كذا ومع كذا وكان جميلا او غريبا او ايا كان الموقف,ولكن الاسهاب في السرد, وايضا بالاخص الاجزاء الخاصة بوصف الاعضاء كان مملا للغاية, وفي غير مكانه علي ما اعتقد بالنسبة للرواية الغير مصنفة علي انها ايروتيكية
هذه كانت النقطة الاخيرة في الريفيو الطويل الملائم لرواية طويلة مرهقه الي حد ما
ربما تقييمي لها بنجمتين جاء بسبب كل ماسبق,ربما لانني لم افهمها وتحولت الي ناكاتا أخر
ربما لان في منتصف الاحداث كان سقف توقعاتي يعلو ويعلو لدرجة طموحي في ماستر سين
Master-scene
او مشهد ذروة قبل النهاية يجتمع فيه اهم الابطال يلقون بتفسيرات او يفجرون مفاجأت لبعضهم البعض مثلا,ويمسك ناكاتا رأسه بيديه متألما من الاحداث المتلاحقة ليئن ويقول
عقل ناكاتا لا يحتمل كل هذا
ولكن هذا للاسف لم يحدث..وكانت الخلاصات التي خرجت منها بالرواية قليلة لانني لم افهمها..فعقلي لم يتحمل كل هذا
أصدرت الكتاب دار نشر متواضعة, ولم يشتره أحد. لم يكن الكتاب يتضمن أي خلاصات, ولا ,ولا أحد يرغب في قراءة كتاب بلا خلاصات. لكن في ما يخصني كان من المناسب جدا ألا أصل إلي خلاصات
هكذا قالت ميس سايكي , تلك الشخصية الغامضة..وهكذا شعرت بالنهاية..انا لم احب الكتاب وقيمته هكذا لاني لم اخرج منه بخلاصة
ولكن لا يمنع هذا انها كانت رحلة من نوع خاص
وربما اعاودها مرة اخري -ولكن بقراءه سريعة المرة القادمة- بعدما اقرأ اكثر حول التاريخ الياباني وتطورات مجتمعه من خلال روايات من الادب الياباني اخري ,فكافكا علي الشاطئ اول قرائتي في الادب الياباني
ولا تدع في النهاية تقييمي يبعدك عن قراءه الرواية..فالكثير من الاصدقاء استمتعوا بها اكثر مني كما يبدو , وهي رحلة فعلا اعتقد انها تستحق القراءه فبعض احداثها كان ممتعا بالنسبة لي
وسأختتم ايضا كما فعلت طوال ذلك الريفيو بتلك الجملتين الانسب للختام
“هناك أشياء كثيرة لا نستطيع أن نراها بوضوح إلا بعد زمن”
الزمن..اه من الزمن
كانت تلك الرواية التالية لرواية زمنية اخري عشقتها وتحدثت عن الزمن في الريفيو الخاص بها وهي مائة عام من العزلة
وربما لهذا هذا الجزء اعجبني جدا ايضا لميس سايكي عن الذكريات والزمن
-كل ما أردته الانطلاق غلي عالم أخر, عالم لايصل اليه احد,عالم وراء مسار الزمن
-لكن لا مكان كهذا في العالم
-بالظبط, ولهذا مازلت هنا, في هذا العالم حيث تستمر الأشياء بالفناء, وتتقلب القلوب ,ولا يكف الزمن عن الرور
وتصمت برهه كأنما تشير إلي مرور الزمن
كل منا يفقد شيئا عزيزا عليه, فرصا, أمكانيات, مشاعر لا يمكننا استعادتها أبدا. كل هذا جزء من معني كوننا نعيش. ولكن في داخل رؤوسنا- أو هذا ما أتصوره أنا- نخزن الذكريات في غرفة صغيرة هناك ز غرفة كالرفوف في هذه المكتبة, ولنعي الأعمال التي كتبتها قلوبنا, علينا أن نصنفها وننظمها ببطاقات , ونزيل عنها الغبار من حين لأخر, ونجدد لها الهواء, ونغير الماء في أواني الزهور , بكلمات أخري , ستعيش إلي الأبد في مكتبتك الخاصة بك
حسنا...اعتقد فعلا ان هذه الرحلة بالرغم من كل شئ, لن انساها
“ورغم مرور وقت طويل، وبغض النظر عن كل الأحداث الغامرة، فهناك أشياء لايسعنا أبداً أن نلقيها في طي النسيان، ذكريات لاتمحى، تبقى للأبد كالحجر الصوان.”
محمد العربي
من 4 مايو 2014
الي 8 مايو 2014
"الريفيو في 27-29 مايو 2014"
September 6, 2015
Kafka on the Shore is a metaphor. It follows no rules, it doesn’t adhere to reason, and applicability is not an issue. It fills you up, it tears you down. A fugue of emotions are present, you can’t seem to figure out which of the many different realizations flooding you is most important. Waves roll up again and again on the beach of your consciousness and at first you resist, but after a while you understand that your struggle is pointless, so you give in. You read, you feel, you try to understand, you try to make sense. And you know what? You love it.
I don’t think I can adequately get the gist of a Murakami experience on a goodreads review. It’s something else, something you have to experience for yourself. I will try, but I know I shall fail. You have to realize that reading Murakami requires a unity of perception and feeling. I can try to make you understand certain concepts found in the book, but I will fall short on the sensory part. Murakami’s strength is the feeling he wraps around his teachings. He’s a surrealist painter, a musician, an oddity that weaves consciousness with pop-culture and makes it work. People say his works are easily accessible yet elegantly complex, I whole-heartedly agree. His style is so rich and resonant that it can dabble into lunacy without any sort of urgency. He isn’t regulated in any way, a writer free from normative paradigms and moral constraints. He’s pretty strange, but trust me, it’s awesome the way he writes. Okay, I’m gonna stop myself here. All I’m going to say is try it, experience it. See for yourself.
This novel is shared between two people’s inter-connected tales of self-discovery. A damaged fifteen year-old named Kafka, an illiterate and magical old-man named Nakata, one fleeing from something, the other searching, one looking forward, the other looking back, one with a bright future ahead of him, the other with a dark past. Two very different people, yet their fates are intertwined by something so inconspicuous.
As I said, Murakami hurls many different things at you at break-neck speed. He can talk about fate one minute, then drop it and talk about imperfection the next. It’s kind of messy at times, but the cumulative effect is still pretty solid. It’s like he’s packing everything in a mumble-jumble of thoughts that confusion is a constant. But when you sift through his words, you find that your confusion is more of feeling than an actual state of mind. You understand him perfectly, but you can’t put into words the emotion inside you. Stunning is I think the closest word possible to describing it. For me, though, the thing that stood out the most was his ode to time.
“Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through is now like something from the distant past. We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.”
Time is an important concept. It is correlated to love and memory, two other topics that are central in Murakami’s points. You see, some people when they find love and are at their happiest, they want to freeze time and live in that moment forever. But what they have to know is that a moment alone will lose all meaning. The present is useless without both the past and future. You cannot appreciate something without knowing how you got there nor understanding that something will come out of it. The past gives a history, the future a possibility. Time is thing of beauty. Life without it is like air, you exist but you are stagnant and boring. With it, it is like the wind, moving, dancing, flowing into the unknown. But not only that, time makes love possible, because love takes time.
“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.”
Aside from love, time also makes one important thing possible. Memories. “If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.” It allows us to store things inside our minds so that we can cherish them as long as we can. It permits us to remember those that have been, those that build up who we are. Because each person is shaped by the cumulative memories that he or she makes. Whether they may be happy or painful or boring, they mold us into who we are. Identity is slowly transformed over time, with our memories playing a vital role.
“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
Our identity, no matter how much time and memories change it, some part of it will stay the same. There are things that are unchangeable, things that will make you look into the past and see the same thing now. But, there are things that we purposely hold on to that hurt us, things that we hide in us and contain through time. Things that we can let go of, but we don’t, even if it is painful. A time will come when you will have to let go.
“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.”
“As long as there’s such a thing as time, everybody‘s damaged in the end, changed into something else.
“But if that happens, you’ve got a place you can retrace your steps to”
“Retrace your steps to?”
“A place that’s worth coming back to.”
As I finish this review, I’m very excited. Yes, I know that I’ve got my memories to look back to, but what I’m excited about are those memories that haven’t been made yet. The future is ahead of me, I’ve got time on my hands. The possibilities are endless.
I don’t think I can adequately get the gist of a Murakami experience on a goodreads review. It’s something else, something you have to experience for yourself. I will try, but I know I shall fail. You have to realize that reading Murakami requires a unity of perception and feeling. I can try to make you understand certain concepts found in the book, but I will fall short on the sensory part. Murakami’s strength is the feeling he wraps around his teachings. He’s a surrealist painter, a musician, an oddity that weaves consciousness with pop-culture and makes it work. People say his works are easily accessible yet elegantly complex, I whole-heartedly agree. His style is so rich and resonant that it can dabble into lunacy without any sort of urgency. He isn’t regulated in any way, a writer free from normative paradigms and moral constraints. He’s pretty strange, but trust me, it’s awesome the way he writes. Okay, I’m gonna stop myself here. All I’m going to say is try it, experience it. See for yourself.
This novel is shared between two people’s inter-connected tales of self-discovery. A damaged fifteen year-old named Kafka, an illiterate and magical old-man named Nakata, one fleeing from something, the other searching, one looking forward, the other looking back, one with a bright future ahead of him, the other with a dark past. Two very different people, yet their fates are intertwined by something so inconspicuous.
As I said, Murakami hurls many different things at you at break-neck speed. He can talk about fate one minute, then drop it and talk about imperfection the next. It’s kind of messy at times, but the cumulative effect is still pretty solid. It’s like he’s packing everything in a mumble-jumble of thoughts that confusion is a constant. But when you sift through his words, you find that your confusion is more of feeling than an actual state of mind. You understand him perfectly, but you can’t put into words the emotion inside you. Stunning is I think the closest word possible to describing it. For me, though, the thing that stood out the most was his ode to time.
“Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through is now like something from the distant past. We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.”
Time is an important concept. It is correlated to love and memory, two other topics that are central in Murakami’s points. You see, some people when they find love and are at their happiest, they want to freeze time and live in that moment forever. But what they have to know is that a moment alone will lose all meaning. The present is useless without both the past and future. You cannot appreciate something without knowing how you got there nor understanding that something will come out of it. The past gives a history, the future a possibility. Time is thing of beauty. Life without it is like air, you exist but you are stagnant and boring. With it, it is like the wind, moving, dancing, flowing into the unknown. But not only that, time makes love possible, because love takes time.
“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.”
Aside from love, time also makes one important thing possible. Memories. “If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.” It allows us to store things inside our minds so that we can cherish them as long as we can. It permits us to remember those that have been, those that build up who we are. Because each person is shaped by the cumulative memories that he or she makes. Whether they may be happy or painful or boring, they mold us into who we are. Identity is slowly transformed over time, with our memories playing a vital role.
“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
Our identity, no matter how much time and memories change it, some part of it will stay the same. There are things that are unchangeable, things that will make you look into the past and see the same thing now. But, there are things that we purposely hold on to that hurt us, things that we hide in us and contain through time. Things that we can let go of, but we don’t, even if it is painful. A time will come when you will have to let go.
“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.”
“As long as there’s such a thing as time, everybody‘s damaged in the end, changed into something else.
“But if that happens, you’ve got a place you can retrace your steps to”
“Retrace your steps to?”
“A place that’s worth coming back to.”
As I finish this review, I’m very excited. Yes, I know that I’ve got my memories to look back to, but what I’m excited about are those memories that haven’t been made yet. The future is ahead of me, I’ve got time on my hands. The possibilities are endless.
July 21, 2025
”Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn.
Why?
Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.”
His given name isn’t Kafka Tamura, but when he decides to strike out on his own he gave himself a name that more properly fit the version of himself he wanted to become. Kafka means crow in Czech. A name of significance to an inner self. His father is a world famous sculptor, a man admired for the strength of emotion his creations inspire. He also brought his son into existence (no hocus pocus here...the old fashioned way) molding him as if he were inanimate clay, infusing him with imagination, and in the end like a demented soothsayer, warping him with an Oedipus curse.
Kill the father.
Sex the sister.
Seduce the mother.
”It’s all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine. It’s just like Yeats said: In dreams begin responsibilities. Flip this around and you could say that where there’s no power to imagine, no responsibility can arise.”
Kafka is fifteen, not going on sixteen, but barely fifteen. He is on a quest
to find himself.
to lose himself.
to escape himself.
to avoid the prophecy.
Like an arrow shot by a sure hand he lands at a private library managed by a beautiful woman named Miss Saeki. ”I look for the fifteen-year-old girl in her and find her right away. She’s hidden, asleep, like a 3-D painting in the forest of her heart. But if you look carefully you can spot her. My chest starts pounding again, like somebody’s hammering a long nail into the walls surrounding it.” Kafka feels a kinship with her that makes him wonder if she is his long lost mother. She has experienced tragedy, losing a lover when she was fifteen, and leaving behind a ghost of herself that becomes a haunting experience for Kafka.
”While they’re still alive, people can become ghosts.”
As a parallel story we follow the old man Nakata and his truck driving sidekick Hoshino. Nakata experienced something as a child during the war that left him unable to comprehend reality, but also opened up doorways in his mind to things that if they ever existed... in our minds... have long been lost.
He is crazy.
He is a prophet.
He can talk to cats.
He can understand stones.
He can open an umbrella and leeches or fish or lightening can fall from the sky.
He isn’t crazy.
Nakata searches for lost cats and discovers in the process that he has an arch nemesis in a cat killing phantom named Johnnie Walker. Johnnie turns cats into beautiful flutes and collects their heads in a similar fashion to big game hunters. After a confrontation Nakata finds himself with the need to leave which dovetails perfectly with his quest to find an entrance stone that opens up another world, another world where things have been left behind.
"You should start searching for the other half of your shadow.”
The connection between Nakata and Kafka are very strong. Their dreams mingle, a nemesis for one is a nemesis for the other. They may have different names, but they are one and the same. The quest for one of our heroes is contingent on the success of the other. If they are aware of each other it is buried under their own current perceptions of reality.
One of the more humorous moments is when Hoshino, once a perfectly sane normal human being, meets Colonel Sanders, not someone dressed as Colonel Sanders, but the finger lickin’ good, fried chicken magnet himself. Hoshino, after several days of trying to wrap his head around the eccentricities of his traveling companion, is in need of relaxation. As it turns out the Colonel can help him have the best time of his life.
He hooks him up with a prostitute, but not just any prostitute.
”The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.”
A philosophical prostitute with a special penchant for Hegel.
”Hegel believed that a person is not merely conscious of self and object as separate entities, but through the projection of the self via the mediation of the object is volitionally able to gain a deeper understanding of the self. All of which constitutes self-consciousness.”
“I dont’ know what the heck you’re talking about.”
“Well, think of what I’m doing to you right now. For me I’m the self, and you’re the object. For you, of course, it’s the exact opposite--you’re the self to you and I’m the object. And by exchanging self and object, we can project ourselves into the other and gain self-consciousness. Volitionally.”
“I still don’t get it, but it sure feels good.”
“That’s the whole idea.” the girl said.
I have a new appreciation for Hegel.
Kafka also meets a fantastic character named Oshima which I really can’t talk about without explaining him in detail, but by explaining him in detail would reveal a rather surprising moment in the book which I really want to preserve for those that haven’t read this book yet. Let’s just say he isn’t exactly who he seems, but he is exactly who he says he is. He proves to be the perfect friend for anyone, but for a dream questing fifteen year old runaway trying to escape an Oedipus Curse he is a steady rock to understand even those things beyond the scope of comprehension. He sees things for more than what they are.
Oshima explains to Kafka why he likes Schubert.
”That’s why I like to listen to Schubert while I’m driving. Like I said, it’s because all the performances are imperfect. A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving. I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of--that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging.”
It is hard for those of us who have based their whole life off of reason to keep from instantly dismissing the improbable, the impossible, the absurd, the preposterous, but you must if you are going to hang with Haruki Murakami. Although, I must say there is something very accessible about his writing style that makes the transition from reality to alternative reality to fantasy back to a new reality painless.
We all have mystical things happen to us. We rarely recognize it, most times we fill in what we don’t understand with something we can understand and in the process snap the threads of the extraordinary. I feel the lure of the unknown quite regularly. I feel the itch to leave everything and go someplace where no one knows my name. A place where maybe I can find the rest of my self, the lost selves each holding a fragment of the missing part of my shadow.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visithttp://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
Why?
Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.”
His given name isn’t Kafka Tamura, but when he decides to strike out on his own he gave himself a name that more properly fit the version of himself he wanted to become. Kafka means crow in Czech. A name of significance to an inner self. His father is a world famous sculptor, a man admired for the strength of emotion his creations inspire. He also brought his son into existence (no hocus pocus here...the old fashioned way) molding him as if he were inanimate clay, infusing him with imagination, and in the end like a demented soothsayer, warping him with an Oedipus curse.
Kill the father.
Sex the sister.
Seduce the mother.
”It’s all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine. It’s just like Yeats said: In dreams begin responsibilities. Flip this around and you could say that where there’s no power to imagine, no responsibility can arise.”
Kafka is fifteen, not going on sixteen, but barely fifteen. He is on a quest
to find himself.
to lose himself.
to escape himself.
to avoid the prophecy.
Like an arrow shot by a sure hand he lands at a private library managed by a beautiful woman named Miss Saeki. ”I look for the fifteen-year-old girl in her and find her right away. She’s hidden, asleep, like a 3-D painting in the forest of her heart. But if you look carefully you can spot her. My chest starts pounding again, like somebody’s hammering a long nail into the walls surrounding it.” Kafka feels a kinship with her that makes him wonder if she is his long lost mother. She has experienced tragedy, losing a lover when she was fifteen, and leaving behind a ghost of herself that becomes a haunting experience for Kafka.
”While they’re still alive, people can become ghosts.”
As a parallel story we follow the old man Nakata and his truck driving sidekick Hoshino. Nakata experienced something as a child during the war that left him unable to comprehend reality, but also opened up doorways in his mind to things that if they ever existed... in our minds... have long been lost.
He is crazy.
He is a prophet.
He can talk to cats.
He can understand stones.
He can open an umbrella and leeches or fish or lightening can fall from the sky.
He isn’t crazy.
Nakata searches for lost cats and discovers in the process that he has an arch nemesis in a cat killing phantom named Johnnie Walker. Johnnie turns cats into beautiful flutes and collects their heads in a similar fashion to big game hunters. After a confrontation Nakata finds himself with the need to leave which dovetails perfectly with his quest to find an entrance stone that opens up another world, another world where things have been left behind.
"You should start searching for the other half of your shadow.”
The connection between Nakata and Kafka are very strong. Their dreams mingle, a nemesis for one is a nemesis for the other. They may have different names, but they are one and the same. The quest for one of our heroes is contingent on the success of the other. If they are aware of each other it is buried under their own current perceptions of reality.
One of the more humorous moments is when Hoshino, once a perfectly sane normal human being, meets Colonel Sanders, not someone dressed as Colonel Sanders, but the finger lickin’ good, fried chicken magnet himself. Hoshino, after several days of trying to wrap his head around the eccentricities of his traveling companion, is in need of relaxation. As it turns out the Colonel can help him have the best time of his life.
He hooks him up with a prostitute, but not just any prostitute.
”The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.”
A philosophical prostitute with a special penchant for Hegel.
”Hegel believed that a person is not merely conscious of self and object as separate entities, but through the projection of the self via the mediation of the object is volitionally able to gain a deeper understanding of the self. All of which constitutes self-consciousness.”
“I dont’ know what the heck you’re talking about.”
“Well, think of what I’m doing to you right now. For me I’m the self, and you’re the object. For you, of course, it’s the exact opposite--you’re the self to you and I’m the object. And by exchanging self and object, we can project ourselves into the other and gain self-consciousness. Volitionally.”
“I still don’t get it, but it sure feels good.”
“That’s the whole idea.” the girl said.
I have a new appreciation for Hegel.
Kafka also meets a fantastic character named Oshima which I really can’t talk about without explaining him in detail, but by explaining him in detail would reveal a rather surprising moment in the book which I really want to preserve for those that haven’t read this book yet. Let’s just say he isn’t exactly who he seems, but he is exactly who he says he is. He proves to be the perfect friend for anyone, but for a dream questing fifteen year old runaway trying to escape an Oedipus Curse he is a steady rock to understand even those things beyond the scope of comprehension. He sees things for more than what they are.
Oshima explains to Kafka why he likes Schubert.
”That’s why I like to listen to Schubert while I’m driving. Like I said, it’s because all the performances are imperfect. A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving. I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of--that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging.”
It is hard for those of us who have based their whole life off of reason to keep from instantly dismissing the improbable, the impossible, the absurd, the preposterous, but you must if you are going to hang with Haruki Murakami. Although, I must say there is something very accessible about his writing style that makes the transition from reality to alternative reality to fantasy back to a new reality painless.
We all have mystical things happen to us. We rarely recognize it, most times we fill in what we don’t understand with something we can understand and in the process snap the threads of the extraordinary. I feel the lure of the unknown quite regularly. I feel the itch to leave everything and go someplace where no one knows my name. A place where maybe I can find the rest of my self, the lost selves each holding a fragment of the missing part of my shadow.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visithttp://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
December 4, 2013
Few books have infected me with boredom-induced ADD, the desire to gnaw my own foot off at the ankle, and the state of mind you might experience if forced to sit upon a nest of hornets while watching your home being burglarized, but this was one of them. It took me until page 70 to stop wanting to hop up and rearrange the spice cupboard or my sock drawer every few sentences, but then the feeling returned at page 243. Only 224 pages to go! From then on, my hatred and resentment of this book progressively grew like a dead cow bloating in the heat.
“Kafka on the Shore” is a mess. It is such a mess that it makes my six-year-old son’s post-playdate bedroom look like Buckingham Palace. Loosely based on the Oedipus myth, and taking some obvious inspiration from Catcher in the Rye, this book seems to be little more than a random hodgepodge of ideas held together with pipe cleaners and raspberry jam.
There was so much to hate about this book. Here are just a few things:
1. Boring, unnecessary descriptions – that do nothing to further the story – of what people are wearing, what Kafka likes to do during his workout, what he decides to eat, what he is listening to on his Walkman, and so on. I wouldn’t have been surprised to read a monologue from Kafka along the lines of: “When I wipe my arse, I like to use just four squares of toilet paper, no more, no less. I count them out – one, two, three, four. Then I fold the length over once, and again. Equipped now with the perfect, handheld quilt, I wipe in a single, expert, sweeping motion – front to back. Examine the paper to determine whether I need to repeat the process. However, I would add that this is only if the paper is two-ply. For one-ply paper, I need a minimum of eight sheets, but only if they are of high quality. If not of high quality, the boy Crow reminds me, ‘Remember, you’ve got to be the toughest 15-year-old on the planet.’”
2. The gratuitous cat torture scene. Johnnie Walker (him off the whiskey bottle) has to cut the hearts out of living cats and eat them so that he can collect cat souls to make a special kind of flute. There is no freakin’ point to this scene whatsoever – we never hear about Johnnie or his cat-flute again.
3. The annoying way characters – Oshima in particular – deliver sermons about philosophy, art, literature and classical music. It took me right out of the story (tangled mess though it was) and smacked of “Look at me – aren’t I clever?”
4. The screechy-preachy scene with the “feminist” caricatures in the library.
5. Hate to be ungroovy or whatever – but I just couldn’t stand any of the sex scenes, particularly with Miss Saeki, the 50-something librarian who gets it on over and over again with the 15-year-old protagonist even though he and she both know she might be his long-lost mother. Excuse me while I go mop the vomitus off of my living room wall.
After the first 100 pages I thought that I might end up giving this book three stars. Another 100 pages on, I decided two stars. By page 331 I decided one star, and by the end of this frustrating, pretentious, and completely unsatisfying book, I felt like I’d squandered so much of my precious life reading this pile o’ doo-doo that I didn’t want to give it even one star. However, since Mr. Murakami knows how to spell (or at least, I’m assuming he does since this is a translation) I will relent.
In the end, love or loathing of a book is entirely subjective, and scores of critics loved this one. As for me, I feel that if I’d wanted to find meaning in a random jumble of junk, I would have had more luck going to the thrift store and sifting through the bric-a-brac box than wasting time on Mr. Murakami’s brain-omelette.
“Kafka on the Shore” is a mess. It is such a mess that it makes my six-year-old son’s post-playdate bedroom look like Buckingham Palace. Loosely based on the Oedipus myth, and taking some obvious inspiration from Catcher in the Rye, this book seems to be little more than a random hodgepodge of ideas held together with pipe cleaners and raspberry jam.
There was so much to hate about this book. Here are just a few things:
1. Boring, unnecessary descriptions – that do nothing to further the story – of what people are wearing, what Kafka likes to do during his workout, what he decides to eat, what he is listening to on his Walkman, and so on. I wouldn’t have been surprised to read a monologue from Kafka along the lines of: “When I wipe my arse, I like to use just four squares of toilet paper, no more, no less. I count them out – one, two, three, four. Then I fold the length over once, and again. Equipped now with the perfect, handheld quilt, I wipe in a single, expert, sweeping motion – front to back. Examine the paper to determine whether I need to repeat the process. However, I would add that this is only if the paper is two-ply. For one-ply paper, I need a minimum of eight sheets, but only if they are of high quality. If not of high quality, the boy Crow reminds me, ‘Remember, you’ve got to be the toughest 15-year-old on the planet.’”
2. The gratuitous cat torture scene. Johnnie Walker (him off the whiskey bottle) has to cut the hearts out of living cats and eat them so that he can collect cat souls to make a special kind of flute. There is no freakin’ point to this scene whatsoever – we never hear about Johnnie or his cat-flute again.
3. The annoying way characters – Oshima in particular – deliver sermons about philosophy, art, literature and classical music. It took me right out of the story (tangled mess though it was) and smacked of “Look at me – aren’t I clever?”
4. The screechy-preachy scene with the “feminist” caricatures in the library.
5. Hate to be ungroovy or whatever – but I just couldn’t stand any of the sex scenes, particularly with Miss Saeki, the 50-something librarian who gets it on over and over again with the 15-year-old protagonist even though he and she both know she might be his long-lost mother. Excuse me while I go mop the vomitus off of my living room wall.
After the first 100 pages I thought that I might end up giving this book three stars. Another 100 pages on, I decided two stars. By page 331 I decided one star, and by the end of this frustrating, pretentious, and completely unsatisfying book, I felt like I’d squandered so much of my precious life reading this pile o’ doo-doo that I didn’t want to give it even one star. However, since Mr. Murakami knows how to spell (or at least, I’m assuming he does since this is a translation) I will relent.
In the end, love or loathing of a book is entirely subjective, and scores of critics loved this one. As for me, I feel that if I’d wanted to find meaning in a random jumble of junk, I would have had more luck going to the thrift store and sifting through the bric-a-brac box than wasting time on Mr. Murakami’s brain-omelette.
Read
January 15, 2020second read thoughts: I thought I'd get a better understanding for this story the second time around, but I'm still lost in a world full of questions. I know that's partly the author's intent though! I feel like I'm going to drive myself crazy if I keep trying to make sense of what this book is trying to achieve. I think that's kind of the point though. This book isn't trying to achieve anything, it's one of those books where the reader is left to decide what the book ultimately does. Which makes this an even more interesting experience, because everyone comes out of it with something different.
first read thoughts: This was definitely an interesting read. I feel like I will have to read it again for everything to fully make sense, but I was surprised by how easy this book was to follow. I also loved the writing style! I will definitely be giving more books by Haruki Murakami ago in the future.
first read thoughts: This was definitely an interesting read. I feel like I will have to read it again for everything to fully make sense, but I was surprised by how easy this book was to follow. I also loved the writing style! I will definitely be giving more books by Haruki Murakami ago in the future.
April 28, 2013
إلتقيت قبل أيام بزميل ياباني ودار بيننا حوار حول الأدب والقراءة، وتطرقنا لرواية هاروكي موراكامي هذه، وسألني إن كنت قد فهمت الرواية، خصوصًا أنني أبديت إعجابي الشديد بها، فقلت له: بصراحة .. كلا!
ضحك بشدة وقال لي : لو أنك قلت أنك فهمت الرواية لجزمت بأنك لم تقرأها، فهذه الرواية أصلا قائمة على عدم الفهم: عدم فهم الحياة، عدم فهم الحب، عدم فهم الذات..إلخ وهي بعكس روايات باولو كويلو الوعظية -مثلاً- لا تقدم لك إجابات جاهزة ومعلبة، أو تطبطب على عقلك، أو تحقن روحك بمخدر موضعي، بل تسبب لك قلقًا فكريًا وتدفعك للتساؤل بينك وبين نفسك: هل أنا أفهم..نفسي؟
ضحك بشدة وقال لي : لو أنك قلت أنك فهمت الرواية لجزمت بأنك لم تقرأها، فهذه الرواية أصلا قائمة على عدم الفهم: عدم فهم الحياة، عدم فهم الحب، عدم فهم الذات..إلخ وهي بعكس روايات باولو كويلو الوعظية -مثلاً- لا تقدم لك إجابات جاهزة ومعلبة، أو تطبطب على عقلك، أو تحقن روحك بمخدر موضعي، بل تسبب لك قلقًا فكريًا وتدفعك للتساؤل بينك وبين نفسك: هل أنا أفهم..نفسي؟
March 25, 2023
this book is fucked up in a lot of ways but the thing that grossed me out the most was the fact that whenever kafka was thirsty he drank milk 🤮MILK. who just chugs a carton of milk when they're thirsty?? ewwww go take a sip of water for a change you fucking WEIRDO i don’t ever want to be near you
April 17, 2026
يستلهم هاروكي موراكامي نفسه
يفككها ويأخذ محتوياتها ليصنع منها شخصياته
هو الصبي المراهق المتمرد على الثقافة الأبوية، يتنكر بقناع كافكا ويرتدي قميصه ويتشرب اغترابه
وهو الشاب الذي قتله أصحابه بطريق الخطأ في فورة غضبهم السياسي
وهو الحاكي بصوت شهرزاد التي تكتب أغنية وحيدة لحبيب ستستعيد صورته في الخريف
وهو ناكاتا المتحدث مع القطط الذي يستقبل رسائل من بشر يخفون معاناتهم في كتابات تتناثر في رياح الزمن مع رماد الوقت
وهو قط يبحث عمن يفهم لغته
وهو الشرقي الذي غزته ثقافة الغرب
وهو السائق المشحون بصدى بيتهوفن وشوبرت يرددها عبر فاصل من المحيطات والبحار
وهو قبل وبعد ذلك الصوفي الذي تتلمس روحه العلاقات الشعورية الخفية في عناصر العالم فيعبر متاهات الجسد وأنفاق المنطق محددا نقاط بعيدة تتلاقى ذراتها في رياح الجزر المتناثرة في مضارب الأعاصير
رواية مشبعة بالثقافة العابرة للحدود والأنماط الفكرية والغرائبية التي يتحدث بها صمتنا
رواية تستبطن محاصيل أحاديث أحلام اليقظة ومتاهات الكوابي
تنتزع الآخر من سباته باعماقنا
لتضعه على شاطئ الحكايات
مغامرة في محبة الرحلة والموسيقى والقطط
أقصد الحرية والفن والكائنات
قد تتم الترجمة عن لغة وسيطة، لكنها تصوغ الرواية عملا فنيا يعي جمال السرد
ويجيد التعامل مع أوراق لعب المبدعين
حتى لو كانت هذه الألعاب بديعية تستخدم الجناس لكشف العلاقة بين ألفاظ المجتمع وثقافته
تحية للمترجمة التي تجيد صياغة السرد بروح أدبية فيها تماسك التأليف واستراتيجية نقل الشكل وجمالياته التشكيلية ومقصديته الشعورية وتبحث عن معادل بلاغي للألعاب اللغوية البديعية
يفككها ويأخذ محتوياتها ليصنع منها شخصياته
هو الصبي المراهق المتمرد على الثقافة الأبوية، يتنكر بقناع كافكا ويرتدي قميصه ويتشرب اغترابه
وهو الشاب الذي قتله أصحابه بطريق الخطأ في فورة غضبهم السياسي
وهو الحاكي بصوت شهرزاد التي تكتب أغنية وحيدة لحبيب ستستعيد صورته في الخريف
وهو ناكاتا المتحدث مع القطط الذي يستقبل رسائل من بشر يخفون معاناتهم في كتابات تتناثر في رياح الزمن مع رماد الوقت
وهو قط يبحث عمن يفهم لغته
وهو الشرقي الذي غزته ثقافة الغرب
وهو السائق المشحون بصدى بيتهوفن وشوبرت يرددها عبر فاصل من المحيطات والبحار
وهو قبل وبعد ذلك الصوفي الذي تتلمس روحه العلاقات الشعورية الخفية في عناصر العالم فيعبر متاهات الجسد وأنفاق المنطق محددا نقاط بعيدة تتلاقى ذراتها في رياح الجزر المتناثرة في مضارب الأعاصير
رواية مشبعة بالثقافة العابرة للحدود والأنماط الفكرية والغرائبية التي يتحدث بها صمتنا
رواية تستبطن محاصيل أحاديث أحلام اليقظة ومتاهات الكوابي
تنتزع الآخر من سباته باعماقنا
لتضعه على شاطئ الحكايات
مغامرة في محبة الرحلة والموسيقى والقطط
أقصد الحرية والفن والكائنات
قد تتم الترجمة عن لغة وسيطة، لكنها تصوغ الرواية عملا فنيا يعي جمال السرد
ويجيد التعامل مع أوراق لعب المبدعين
حتى لو كانت هذه الألعاب بديعية تستخدم الجناس لكشف العلاقة بين ألفاظ المجتمع وثقافته
تحية للمترجمة التي تجيد صياغة السرد بروح أدبية فيها تماسك التأليف واستراتيجية نقل الشكل وجمالياته التشكيلية ومقصديته الشعورية وتبحث عن معادل بلاغي للألعاب اللغوية البديعية
August 8, 2026
“What I think is this: You should give up looking for lost cats and start searching for the other half of your shadow.”
Kafka on the Shore ~~~ Haruki Murakami
There are few writers ~~ very few writers, whose worlds I love to inhabit. Woolf is one of them; so too is Joyce, Chekhov another, as are Dickens, Twain, Proust and Tolstoy. I can now add to that list, Haruki Murakami.
As I've stated before, I was late to the the Murakami banquet, but once I arrived I was treated to a magnificent feast, and now I have been treated to the main course KAFKA ON THE SHORE. Kafka is one of the most delicious meals I have ever been served. If I could, I would give this magnificent book ten stars.
KAFKA ON THE SHORE is a nearly perfect novel.
KAFKA ON THE SHORE is a beautifully told story about needing to let go and step out of your own reality in order to find out that life is meant to be lived. Leading us on the journey of self-discovery is fifteen-year-old Kafka Tamura. We join Kafka on his journey from runaway to enlightened being. Our other guide is Mr. Nakata, who lives half in this world and half in a world not of his choosing. At the same time, we meet a whole lot of other people who lack self-awareness, living on the fringe of society ~~ and what a colorful cast of characters it is. There is Oshima, who lives on the edge of genders. We meet Hoshino, whose eyes are opened to what he can be thru his interactions with Mr. Nakata, and who escapes his dead end reality and grows into a new one. And lastly, Miss Saeki who has chosen to live in the past more than the present.
KAFKA ON THE SHORE is a profoundly spiritual exploration of life, who we love, and the choices we make in life. Murakami introduces us to Zen and Buddhist philosophies, with a little Hinduism thrown in for good measure. KAFKA ON THE SHORE would make a terrific companion piece to Thomas Merton’s Zen and the Birds of Appetite and The Wisdom of the Desert.
There is much to love in KAFKA ON THE SHORE. Like most brilliant pieces of literature, it was difficult to leave the world Murakami created. KAFKA ON THE SHORE will resonate with me for years to come. Rarely has a book satisfied me on so many levels.
Kafka on the Shore ~~~ Haruki Murakami
There are few writers ~~ very few writers, whose worlds I love to inhabit. Woolf is one of them; so too is Joyce, Chekhov another, as are Dickens, Twain, Proust and Tolstoy. I can now add to that list, Haruki Murakami.
As I've stated before, I was late to the the Murakami banquet, but once I arrived I was treated to a magnificent feast, and now I have been treated to the main course KAFKA ON THE SHORE. Kafka is one of the most delicious meals I have ever been served. If I could, I would give this magnificent book ten stars.
KAFKA ON THE SHORE is a nearly perfect novel.
KAFKA ON THE SHORE is a beautifully told story about needing to let go and step out of your own reality in order to find out that life is meant to be lived. Leading us on the journey of self-discovery is fifteen-year-old Kafka Tamura. We join Kafka on his journey from runaway to enlightened being. Our other guide is Mr. Nakata, who lives half in this world and half in a world not of his choosing. At the same time, we meet a whole lot of other people who lack self-awareness, living on the fringe of society ~~ and what a colorful cast of characters it is. There is Oshima, who lives on the edge of genders. We meet Hoshino, whose eyes are opened to what he can be thru his interactions with Mr. Nakata, and who escapes his dead end reality and grows into a new one. And lastly, Miss Saeki who has chosen to live in the past more than the present.
KAFKA ON THE SHORE is a profoundly spiritual exploration of life, who we love, and the choices we make in life. Murakami introduces us to Zen and Buddhist philosophies, with a little Hinduism thrown in for good measure. KAFKA ON THE SHORE would make a terrific companion piece to Thomas Merton’s Zen and the Birds of Appetite and The Wisdom of the Desert.
There is much to love in KAFKA ON THE SHORE. Like most brilliant pieces of literature, it was difficult to leave the world Murakami created. KAFKA ON THE SHORE will resonate with me for years to come. Rarely has a book satisfied me on so many levels.
August 5, 2024
Here is a full list of every female character who appears in this book:
-An elderly retired teacher who writes to a psychiatrist to say how much she admires his work, and speaks about having an erotic dream years ago, masturbating and getting her period unexpectedly, which is “the most embarrassing thing that could happen to a woman."
-A young hairdresser who lets a stranger, who happens to be a muscular young man covered in blood, sleep in her house. Tells him they can’t sleep together because she has a boyfriend and then proceeds to give him a hand job to help him relax. Then says she wishes she was his sister.
-A receptionist who the main character thinks about when masturbating.
-A woman who hires someone to find her children’s lost cat, and when the cat is returned to their house, goes to get the money for his husband to give to the person.
-An older librarian who never recovered from losing her boyfriend when she was 15, but is nonetheless still “slim and pretty”.
-Two “shrill and unimaginative” women who are investigating women’s ease of access to public buildings. In response to their question of why female authors are listed after males in the library, they are asked whether they also found it wrong when their names were called after others in schools based on the order of the alphabet.
-A young girl working in the tourist centre who is “pretty enough” although her eyes are a little too far apart from each other.
-A girl sitting close by who the male character decides he doesn’t have the time to make a pass at.
-An unnamed sex worker, referred to as a “supple young sex machine” who does to the male characters things he’s never experienced in his life, she is a philosophy student and he asks her to quote philosophy stuff so he doesn’t come so quickly
-A 50-year woman who sleepwalks into the 15-year old character’s room, undresses and gets in bed with him. He doesn’t wake her up because he doesn’t have the strength to resist. Instead, they have sex while she is asleep, and thinks he is her dead boyfriend.
-A 50-year old woman who sleeps with a 15-year old because he asks her to.
-(Dream sequence) The main character takes off a sleeping girl's panties and puts his fingers inside of her. Then rapes her as she sleeps, because "he has no choice". She wakes up and cries, but there is no way he is going to leave her body. She closes her eyes and gives herself over to him, without protesting. He feels her pleasure.
-“A living breathing girl you can touch, her small breast just underneath her blouse, in the kitchen, cooking for me.” “I’ll do the cooking here for a while, the washing and cleaning as well, just put your laundry in the basket and I’ll take care of it” “If you need me, I’ll be here”
Note: There is also a female cat, who moves like a belly dancer.
(If you like, come hang out with me on booktube: https://www.youtube.com/@UnfortunateA...)
-An elderly retired teacher who writes to a psychiatrist to say how much she admires his work, and speaks about having an erotic dream years ago, masturbating and getting her period unexpectedly, which is “the most embarrassing thing that could happen to a woman."
-A young hairdresser who lets a stranger, who happens to be a muscular young man covered in blood, sleep in her house. Tells him they can’t sleep together because she has a boyfriend and then proceeds to give him a hand job to help him relax. Then says she wishes she was his sister.
-A receptionist who the main character thinks about when masturbating.
-A woman who hires someone to find her children’s lost cat, and when the cat is returned to their house, goes to get the money for his husband to give to the person.
-An older librarian who never recovered from losing her boyfriend when she was 15, but is nonetheless still “slim and pretty”.
-Two “shrill and unimaginative” women who are investigating women’s ease of access to public buildings. In response to their question of why female authors are listed after males in the library, they are asked whether they also found it wrong when their names were called after others in schools based on the order of the alphabet.
-A young girl working in the tourist centre who is “pretty enough” although her eyes are a little too far apart from each other.
-A girl sitting close by who the male character decides he doesn’t have the time to make a pass at.
-An unnamed sex worker, referred to as a “supple young sex machine” who does to the male characters things he’s never experienced in his life, she is a philosophy student and he asks her to quote philosophy stuff so he doesn’t come so quickly
-A 50-year woman who sleepwalks into the 15-year old character’s room, undresses and gets in bed with him. He doesn’t wake her up because he doesn’t have the strength to resist. Instead, they have sex while she is asleep, and thinks he is her dead boyfriend.
-A 50-year old woman who sleeps with a 15-year old because he asks her to.
-(Dream sequence) The main character takes off a sleeping girl's panties and puts his fingers inside of her. Then rapes her as she sleeps, because "he has no choice". She wakes up and cries, but there is no way he is going to leave her body. She closes her eyes and gives herself over to him, without protesting. He feels her pleasure.
-“A living breathing girl you can touch, her small breast just underneath her blouse, in the kitchen, cooking for me.” “I’ll do the cooking here for a while, the washing and cleaning as well, just put your laundry in the basket and I’ll take care of it” “If you need me, I’ll be here”
Note: There is also a female cat, who moves like a belly dancer.
(If you like, come hang out with me on booktube: https://www.youtube.com/@UnfortunateA...)
February 11, 2022
1.5. Ta książka była odpychająca, niesmaczna, dziwna do potęgi i utwierdziła mnie w przekonaniu, że nie chcę mieć dzieci 🥲 Ale równocześnie jest w pewnym względzie monumentalna. Tylko panie autorze, co pan spożywał jak pan to wymyślał
February 8, 2013
هذه قراءة سريالية عبثية لرواية لن تجدوا ملخصا اعتياديا لها
كافكا على الشاطئ هي رواية يابانية بدون شك ,فالكاتب ياباني و الجغرافيا يابانية و الأسماء و الأطعمة و الهواء و الحروب يابانية,حتى فن التواصل و الحديث و النظام ياباني,فهي إذن يابانية الجسد لكنها عالمية الهوى , تاهت في عوالم مختلفة و أزمنة مختلفة ,زارت سوداوية كافكا التشيكي و انصهرت في الموسيقى الكلاسيكية الأوروبية و بدعها الأمريكية,و انسجمت مع الشد العصبي للأدب الأمريكي,بل كان لنا نصيب في لفحة شرقية مع الغالية شهرزاد,كافكا على الشاطئ رواية ترقص بين الواقعية و الخيال في عالم عجائبي يشبه سريالية دالي و انطباعية مونيه رمى الكاتب كأي صياد محترف صنارته في أعماقنا واثقا أن الصنارة ستعلق بهوى و ذاكرة كل منا فهناك من أحب التاريخ و آخر الأدب و آخر الموسيقى..و هناك من توقف عند الأساطير و هناك المهتم بعلم النفس فتعلق بالشخصيات و عقدها..و هناك من أدرك كل هذا و لما انتهى من الرواية استنجد فقال ..بالله من ينقذني من أفيون هذه الرواية..
تبدأ الرواية برتابة البدايات فنتعرف على الشخصية المحورية الأولى كافكا و الذي يسرد بضمير المتكلم حكايته مع صوته الثاني الفتى المدعو كرو ثم تتوالى الصفحات لنجد فصولا متطفلة تحكي عن قصة غريبة حدثت أثناء نزهة مدرسية ثم تأتي فصول نجد فيها الشخصية المحورية الثانية ناكاتا و التي فضل الكاتب أن يتخذ مهمة سرد حكايته و هو أمر مثير جدا لان ناكاتا و ببساطة "ناكاتا غبي لا يستطيع أن يقرأ أو يكتب ناكاتا يحدث القطط فقط"لعبة و ذكاء يحسب للكاتب روائيا,الرواية لا يمكن إجمالها في ملخص و هذا ليس هروبا بل دعوة لقراءة الرواية فالعبرة فيها ليس بأحداثها بل بما تخفيه وراء الأحداث , الرواية تقدم فلسفة وجودية بطريقة سريالية تسقط فيها الأسماك من السماء و تتحدث فيها القطط و تفتح فيها الأبواب و تغلق, هي فلسفة البحث عن الذات و عن ملائمة هذه الذات للوجود المحيط بها, و عن الطرق التي يجب أن نعتمدها في البحث و التواصل مع الآخرهذا الآخر الذي يمثل الجحيم و الجنة الفضول و الإيمان و جميل من الكاتب أن يربط هذا البحث بالقراءة و الفن .
الأحداث بالرواية جاءت على شكل خطوط سردية متوازية, تتصاعد بعفوية و تجبرك أن تقرا أكثر لتعرف أكثر فالكاتب اعتمد على الجملة المفتوحة في نهاية كل فصل لشد انتباه القارئ و سجنه بين الفصول و مع توالي الفصول ندرك انه رغم التوازي في الأحداث فكافكا و نكاتا متصلان بعلاقة ما و بخيط يحاك بينهما يذهب بعيدا في أعماقهما فتتشابك خيوط الواقع بالخيال و يقترب الموت و الحياة بشكل كبير , المثير في الأمر أن كليهما يمثل جانبا في الحياة, فكافكا من جهته يظهر كالشاب واقعي بدرجة كبيرة من التنظيم, قارئ جيد و رياضي جيد و يحب الفن أي بإيجاز المثالية الإنسانية في أبهى صورها ,كافكا يمثل الحياة و كل ما هو متوقع من هذه الحياة و المتوقع هذا ان لم يحققه حقيقة يهرب إلى الأحلام لتحقيقه و هذا أيضا عمل إنساني بامتياز, في المقابل نجد ناكاتا جسدا أجوفا بدون روح يمثل الجانب الآخر للوجود ,جانبا لا يدركه الإنسان(الجسد/الروح) فبعد حادثة لم نفهم وقائعها جيدا سحبت من ناكاتا روحه ليوضع مكانها شيء مبهم لم ندركه أيضا و لن ندركه لأننا ببساطة إنسان, ناكاتا لا يتذكر لا يقرأ لا يكتب و يعيش على مع_ونة (استوقفتني هذه الكلمة لأفهم سر تقسيمها)لكنه مع ذلك يتحدث مع القطط لما القطط دون غيرها من الحيوانات لم يفسر الكاتب و نرجح ان اختيار القطة كان لسببين لما تحمله القطط من هالة من التقديس في الحضارات السابقة و ربما أيضا للاعتقاد المسبق بأن للقطط سبع أرواح بالتالي لها قدرة أكثر من باقي الكائنات أن تقف بين الحياة و الموت ...هذا التقابل بين ناكاتا و كافكا جعلني اتذكر فيلما أمريكيا أخرجه المخرج الفرنسي الكسندر اجا يتحدث فيه عن الابعاد الأخرى التي تمر أمامنا عبر المرايا و لا ندركها لقصرنا عن فعل ذلك, الكاتب أوجد ناكاتا كعامل مفجر لشخصية كافكا ,فناكاتا بقصته الغريبة وجد من اجل ايصال كافكا للحقيقة و ينتهي دوره بهذا العمل و قد تم اختياره لسبب يبقى مجهولا ايضا من ضمن مجموعة من الأطفال لشيء يميزه عن غيره و حين أدى مهمته مات, الكاتب يوضح لنا من خلال هذا التلاقي المغيب بين ناكاتا و كافا ان الوجود لا يتوقف على الواحد بل لكل منا دائرة عريضة تساهم في وجودنا حتى لو كنا في قمم نائية .
اذا تأملنا الرواية كوحدة بعد قراءتها محاولين تفكيك ألغازها نعتقد بأن الأحداث من البداية كان يديرها شخص/شيء ما يدعى جوني والكر اعتباطا و يذكرنا بالأسطورة الألمانية فاوست و الشيطان الذي يبحث عن الأرواح , و يبقى هو المحرك الفعلي للرواية رغم أن الكاتب حاول تحجيم حضوره لصالح باقي الشخصيات إلا إن ظهوره القليل كان نقطة تغيير و دفع للأحداث.
هذه الرواية لا تلخص و من سيفعل سيغفل امر ما يكون أهم من غيره..هذه الرواية تقرأ و كل قارئ سيجد فيها أمرا ما و لعبة ما..و ان كان لي ان ألخصها ساقول أن الرواية تتحدث عن شخصيات غير اعتيادية ..و أماكن غير اعتيادية, تتحدث عن مداخل مجهولة و عن ميلاد جديد.
كافكا على الشاطئ هي رواية يابانية بدون شك ,فالكاتب ياباني و الجغرافيا يابانية و الأسماء و الأطعمة و الهواء و الحروب يابانية,حتى فن التواصل و الحديث و النظام ياباني,فهي إذن يابانية الجسد لكنها عالمية الهوى , تاهت في عوالم مختلفة و أزمنة مختلفة ,زارت سوداوية كافكا التشيكي و انصهرت في الموسيقى الكلاسيكية الأوروبية و بدعها الأمريكية,و انسجمت مع الشد العصبي للأدب الأمريكي,بل كان لنا نصيب في لفحة شرقية مع الغالية شهرزاد,كافكا على الشاطئ رواية ترقص بين الواقعية و الخيال في عالم عجائبي يشبه سريالية دالي و انطباعية مونيه رمى الكاتب كأي صياد محترف صنارته في أعماقنا واثقا أن الصنارة ستعلق بهوى و ذاكرة كل منا فهناك من أحب التاريخ و آخر الأدب و آخر الموسيقى..و هناك من توقف عند الأساطير و هناك المهتم بعلم النفس فتعلق بالشخصيات و عقدها..و هناك من أدرك كل هذا و لما انتهى من الرواية استنجد فقال ..بالله من ينقذني من أفيون هذه الرواية..
تبدأ الرواية برتابة البدايات فنتعرف على الشخصية المحورية الأولى كافكا و الذي يسرد بضمير المتكلم حكايته مع صوته الثاني الفتى المدعو كرو ثم تتوالى الصفحات لنجد فصولا متطفلة تحكي عن قصة غريبة حدثت أثناء نزهة مدرسية ثم تأتي فصول نجد فيها الشخصية المحورية الثانية ناكاتا و التي فضل الكاتب أن يتخذ مهمة سرد حكايته و هو أمر مثير جدا لان ناكاتا و ببساطة "ناكاتا غبي لا يستطيع أن يقرأ أو يكتب ناكاتا يحدث القطط فقط"لعبة و ذكاء يحسب للكاتب روائيا,الرواية لا يمكن إجمالها في ملخص و هذا ليس هروبا بل دعوة لقراءة الرواية فالعبرة فيها ليس بأحداثها بل بما تخفيه وراء الأحداث , الرواية تقدم فلسفة وجودية بطريقة سريالية تسقط فيها الأسماك من السماء و تتحدث فيها القطط و تفتح فيها الأبواب و تغلق, هي فلسفة البحث عن الذات و عن ملائمة هذه الذات للوجود المحيط بها, و عن الطرق التي يجب أن نعتمدها في البحث و التواصل مع الآخرهذا الآخر الذي يمثل الجحيم و الجنة الفضول و الإيمان و جميل من الكاتب أن يربط هذا البحث بالقراءة و الفن .
الأحداث بالرواية جاءت على شكل خطوط سردية متوازية, تتصاعد بعفوية و تجبرك أن تقرا أكثر لتعرف أكثر فالكاتب اعتمد على الجملة المفتوحة في نهاية كل فصل لشد انتباه القارئ و سجنه بين الفصول و مع توالي الفصول ندرك انه رغم التوازي في الأحداث فكافكا و نكاتا متصلان بعلاقة ما و بخيط يحاك بينهما يذهب بعيدا في أعماقهما فتتشابك خيوط الواقع بالخيال و يقترب الموت و الحياة بشكل كبير , المثير في الأمر أن كليهما يمثل جانبا في الحياة, فكافكا من جهته يظهر كالشاب واقعي بدرجة كبيرة من التنظيم, قارئ جيد و رياضي جيد و يحب الفن أي بإيجاز المثالية الإنسانية في أبهى صورها ,كافكا يمثل الحياة و كل ما هو متوقع من هذه الحياة و المتوقع هذا ان لم يحققه حقيقة يهرب إلى الأحلام لتحقيقه و هذا أيضا عمل إنساني بامتياز, في المقابل نجد ناكاتا جسدا أجوفا بدون روح يمثل الجانب الآخر للوجود ,جانبا لا يدركه الإنسان(الجسد/الروح) فبعد حادثة لم نفهم وقائعها جيدا سحبت من ناكاتا روحه ليوضع مكانها شيء مبهم لم ندركه أيضا و لن ندركه لأننا ببساطة إنسان, ناكاتا لا يتذكر لا يقرأ لا يكتب و يعيش على مع_ونة (استوقفتني هذه الكلمة لأفهم سر تقسيمها)لكنه مع ذلك يتحدث مع القطط لما القطط دون غيرها من الحيوانات لم يفسر الكاتب و نرجح ان اختيار القطة كان لسببين لما تحمله القطط من هالة من التقديس في الحضارات السابقة و ربما أيضا للاعتقاد المسبق بأن للقطط سبع أرواح بالتالي لها قدرة أكثر من باقي الكائنات أن تقف بين الحياة و الموت ...هذا التقابل بين ناكاتا و كافكا جعلني اتذكر فيلما أمريكيا أخرجه المخرج الفرنسي الكسندر اجا يتحدث فيه عن الابعاد الأخرى التي تمر أمامنا عبر المرايا و لا ندركها لقصرنا عن فعل ذلك, الكاتب أوجد ناكاتا كعامل مفجر لشخصية كافكا ,فناكاتا بقصته الغريبة وجد من اجل ايصال كافكا للحقيقة و ينتهي دوره بهذا العمل و قد تم اختياره لسبب يبقى مجهولا ايضا من ضمن مجموعة من الأطفال لشيء يميزه عن غيره و حين أدى مهمته مات, الكاتب يوضح لنا من خلال هذا التلاقي المغيب بين ناكاتا و كافا ان الوجود لا يتوقف على الواحد بل لكل منا دائرة عريضة تساهم في وجودنا حتى لو كنا في قمم نائية .
اذا تأملنا الرواية كوحدة بعد قراءتها محاولين تفكيك ألغازها نعتقد بأن الأحداث من البداية كان يديرها شخص/شيء ما يدعى جوني والكر اعتباطا و يذكرنا بالأسطورة الألمانية فاوست و الشيطان الذي يبحث عن الأرواح , و يبقى هو المحرك الفعلي للرواية رغم أن الكاتب حاول تحجيم حضوره لصالح باقي الشخصيات إلا إن ظهوره القليل كان نقطة تغيير و دفع للأحداث.
هذه الرواية لا تلخص و من سيفعل سيغفل امر ما يكون أهم من غيره..هذه الرواية تقرأ و كل قارئ سيجد فيها أمرا ما و لعبة ما..و ان كان لي ان ألخصها ساقول أن الرواية تتحدث عن شخصيات غير اعتيادية ..و أماكن غير اعتيادية, تتحدث عن مداخل مجهولة و عن ميلاد جديد.
August 3, 2016
There are two reasons as to why I chose Kafka on the shore as my first Murakami’s novel:
1.The name Kafka in the title (unconventional and erudite)
2.There are cats in this book and they talk and I love Cats (unconventional criteria)
Hence my journey began into Harukis’s surreal world of inebriating storytelling that has surely made me addictive. I was completely clueless as to what to expect from this novel and I am glad that I was, since contrariwise the subsequent experience I had wouldn’t have been that much fulfilling and magical.
It’s a common belief that when you read a book you not only read but live the characters and story within and since we have that much privilege then why not extend our geographical boundaries to a state of fantasy where anything and everything is possible.
Kafka on the shore provides you exactly that. One might feel being lost in a reverie and if you take a break from that you might ask yourself, OK…What the hell am I reading? But you go back to it like an adamant lover to his beloved. Such books are heavy on a reader’s mind and have its after effects too. One start vying for more and more and begin questioning a lot many things because after all Truth is the source of most Fiction.
This novel doesn’t come up as wholly solely metaphysical but a blend of reality and philosophy with supernatural (by that I mean, not all characters in this book are abnormal, but abnormality is also a reality for many) so that it remains at an acceptable level of fiction. The theme constitutes of 2 worlds here, that of the living and of the dead and how both are connected to each other. It transfers you to some hypnotic state where you protest every sense of reason inside your head and go with flow of haruki’s stream.
The only minor gripe I have is with its ending simply because it doesn’t seem like an end. Murakami leaves it to reader’s imagination as to what might have happened to Kafka after everything he went through (read Oedipus myth), but when the protagonist is a 15-year old boy and have his whole life ahead one can’t simply say “and he lived happily ever after”. I wouldn’t have mind reading hundred more pages to know about Kafka’s future life.
Well leaving that apart, I loved this book and also I love how he brings mesmerizing music into his works and treat it with respect and dignity which I feel are the kind of recommendations on his part to his readers because undeniably music has a powerful effect on human lives.
And I know after having read two of his novels, I am going to love all his works inspite of their flaws because sometimes such surrender is pure bliss.
August 20, 2021
I kept hoping it gets better. It took me so long to read and made me watch tv shows instead of reading.. call me shallow or whatever you want but this book is trying to be philosophical and deep too hard. Too much details, too many things were mentioned and didn’t affect the plot (uhm wait what plot) in any way. We still didn’t get any explanation on some bizarre events/characters. A few events were just too disturbing and not in a good way. I honestly wanted to give it 2 stars but then realized there’s nothing that affected me in Kafka on the shore -which was the whole point of this boring book. I very much struggled to finish it. I guess people who like this genre might enjoy it more. So really, it depends on one’s preference (obviously). Since I liked 1Q84, this wont be my last Murakami but I doubt I’ll be reading another anytime soon.
December 25, 2021
Definitely a page-turner! Once you start, you just keep on reading. Well, why do we stop reading a book? I think we can group the reasons into three: (1) Natural - work, eat, toilet, eyes are tired, other distractions, etc; (2) Boredom - the book or its part is boring; and (3) Need to Digest - sometimes I read a phrase or an idea and it is either hard to understand so I read several times or too beautiful that I want it to sink in and I want to remember it forever.
For my first Haruki Murakami book, Kafka on the Shore, I could not put it down because there is never a boring part especially the first third and on a lesser degree, the second third. I was expecting the last third to be the part where he should give the conclusion: tie up the many loose ends. All the while, that was the part where I though I should see his utter brilliance. He did not. He chose to let all ends hang loose.
So, when I closed the book, I was groaning in front of my daughter. What? That's it? Ganun na lang ba?. So, I said, hmmm 3 stars. Then I remembered what Doris Lessing wrote in her introduction to The Golden Notebook that if a novel is not open for interpretation, it is a boring novel. What makes a story interesting is if it open for interpretation and the more interpretations, the better.
I am giving this a 4-star rating. But this book is not for everyone. If you are the type who asks questions like: so what happened to this character? why was he like that? where did he come from? how did this happen? what is the connection of this and that? Then don't ever lay your hand on this Murakami masterpiece. Stick with your John Grisham or Dean Koontz thrillers where everything is explained thoroughly to please your rationale mind. Most readers are like you anyway. That's why those books sell more and they are always there occupying shelves and shelves of your nearby second-hand bookstore.
Murakami, just like other literary masters, does not write to please. He seems not care about public reading preference but he puts in brilliance in his work and it is up to the readers to appreciate his talent.
For my first Haruki Murakami book, Kafka on the Shore, I could not put it down because there is never a boring part especially the first third and on a lesser degree, the second third. I was expecting the last third to be the part where he should give the conclusion: tie up the many loose ends. All the while, that was the part where I though I should see his utter brilliance. He did not. He chose to let all ends hang loose.
So, when I closed the book, I was groaning in front of my daughter. What? That's it? Ganun na lang ba?. So, I said, hmmm 3 stars. Then I remembered what Doris Lessing wrote in her introduction to The Golden Notebook that if a novel is not open for interpretation, it is a boring novel. What makes a story interesting is if it open for interpretation and the more interpretations, the better.
I am giving this a 4-star rating. But this book is not for everyone. If you are the type who asks questions like: so what happened to this character? why was he like that? where did he come from? how did this happen? what is the connection of this and that? Then don't ever lay your hand on this Murakami masterpiece. Stick with your John Grisham or Dean Koontz thrillers where everything is explained thoroughly to please your rationale mind. Most readers are like you anyway. That's why those books sell more and they are always there occupying shelves and shelves of your nearby second-hand bookstore.
Murakami, just like other literary masters, does not write to please. He seems not care about public reading preference but he puts in brilliance in his work and it is up to the readers to appreciate his talent.
January 1, 2022
Buckle up to experience extremely confusing, mind numbing, vivid, compelling, controversial, wild ride!
Don’t let simple, plain writing style fool you! Get ready for the bombardment of whirlwind journey between different genres including fantasy, magical realism, fiction and get drown in the sea of allegories, metaphors, vibes of
Shakespearean plays, Greek tragedies, amazing mash up of Eastern spiritualism meets Western philosophy!
The book needs to be read more than twice! If you deeply get connected with the characters and visualize yourself in their places, you feel like you’re teleported to Terry Gilliam movies’ surrealistic worlds and after a few rides later you find yourself dark humorous, complex Cohen Brothers’ rug, flying with Big Lebowski, waving to the people, questioning yourself which part of is a dream and which part is pure reality!
I enjoyed this ultra complex, brain cell frier journey even though I have more questions than appropriate answers!
My favorite quotes of the novel are:
“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”
“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
“It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory,unhappiness a story.”
“Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive.”
“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.”
“Even chance meetings are the result of karma… Things in life are fated by our previous lives. That even in the smallest events there’s no such thing as coincidence.”
Don’t let simple, plain writing style fool you! Get ready for the bombardment of whirlwind journey between different genres including fantasy, magical realism, fiction and get drown in the sea of allegories, metaphors, vibes of
Shakespearean plays, Greek tragedies, amazing mash up of Eastern spiritualism meets Western philosophy!
The book needs to be read more than twice! If you deeply get connected with the characters and visualize yourself in their places, you feel like you’re teleported to Terry Gilliam movies’ surrealistic worlds and after a few rides later you find yourself dark humorous, complex Cohen Brothers’ rug, flying with Big Lebowski, waving to the people, questioning yourself which part of is a dream and which part is pure reality!
I enjoyed this ultra complex, brain cell frier journey even though I have more questions than appropriate answers!
My favorite quotes of the novel are:
“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”
“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
“It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory,unhappiness a story.”
“Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive.”
“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.”
“Even chance meetings are the result of karma… Things in life are fated by our previous lives. That even in the smallest events there’s no such thing as coincidence.”
April 13, 2026
ربما لم يكن كافكا هو أول من وقف على الشاطىء فقد وقف على نفس الشاطىء من قبل اسحق نيوتن و غيره من العظماء
ربما لا أكون ذكيا كفاية لأفهم هذه الرواية المعجزة بالكامل و ربما سأحتاج لقرائتها مرات أخرى و بالتأكيد ستظل ممتعة و رائعة فى كل مره
كيف فهمتها الأن و هل هذا فعلا ما أراده موراكامى
لا يهمنى ما أراد ففهم الرواية هو دورى أنا كقارىء و ليس له دور بعد أن أتم الكتابه
ربما هو يتحدث عن الإنسان فى مسيرته منذ فجر التاريخ و حتى مراهقته التى يمر بها الأن و كأنه فتى متمرد عمره خمسة عشر عاما قتل أبيه و دنس أمه و أخته
قد يكون الأب يرمز إلى الرب و الأم للأرض و الأخت بباقى حيوانات الأرض التى شاركتنا المسيرة كالأسماك و العلق المتساقطين من السماء
و مثلما أمرت الأنسة ساييكى بإحراق ذكرياتها و مثلما كان الكلب الأسود و الكولونيل و الجنديان يشددون على عدم النظر أبدا للخلف و لا يتلفتون أبدا للوراء
فربما كانت النصيحة هى أن نحرق الكتاب الذى ربما أراد به الدين و ربما الخرافة و ربما التاريخ و ربما جميع ما من شأنه أن يجعل حياتنا نمطية و نحن فيها كالقطار الذى يمر على القضبان بانتظام و يدهس كل ما فى طريقه
بدأ الإنسان ذكيا ألمعيا و لكنه صغيرا ضعيفا يحتاج إلى الرعاية و منذ أن حدث له هذا الحادث فقد فقد قدرته على القراءة و العلم و لكنه اكتسب قلبا يتسع للجميع و لا يحمل ضغينة لأحد حتى أنه أصبح يستوعب قطط الشوارع
لكن جموح المراهقة و تمردها و الرغبة فى التحرر من السلطة الأبوية مع غياب دور الأم و ذوبانها فى صراع الحياة المرير فى عصرنا الحديث جعل الإنسان الذى ما زال فى عمر المراهقه بنهمه و قدرته على المعرفه و اصراره على أن يكون الكائن الأقوى يحرق كل المراكب فى طريق اللاعوده
يخلط موراكامى الأساطير بالحقيقة و الفلسفة بالفن و المعقول بالامعقول و يجعلك تحبس أنفاسك منذ البداية و حتى اسدال الستار
لا أدعى أننى فهمت كل شىء أو حتى ما فهمته صحيح و مترابط و لكننى استمتعت كثيرا كما لم استمتع منذ زمن بعيد
July 29, 2019
Surreal. Poignant. Magical. Weird. And a classic Murakami from beginning to end.
This was my third book by Mr. Murakami. 1Q84, I enjoyed but I don’t think I will be recommending it to anyone. Then came Norwegian Woods which I loved and have recommended to many friends. But Kafka on the Shore held a special place in the hearts of my friends who have read Murakami. This seems to be their favourite. So I went into this with high expectations, and Mr. Murakami did not disappoint.
Story starts with the divulgence of a high profile investigation that happened in second WW. Fast forward five decades and we are introduced to Kafka Tamura, a 15 year old, who runs away from his family to find the truth about himself. Few chapters after we met our second main character Nakata, a simpleton who talks to cats. After his retirement, Nakata survives by finding lost cats for people because of his special abilities. Even though they are miles apart from each other, and yet their story so intricately woven that it is hard to comprehend where one starts and the other ends.
For me, this was the weirdest magical realm that I have ever read. Fishes falling from the sky, talking to cats (is there a word for being able to talk to cats?), a man obsessed with the idea of creating a flute with the souls of cats, a man killing another man while the killer got away spotless, it was someone else woke up with a bloodied shirt miles away. I am sure any other time I would have DNFed something this weird but Mr. Murakami put a spell on me and I kept turning pages. The desire to know more about Kafka and Nakata and how their story entwines was too much.
Just like 1Q84 and Norwegian Woods, Murakami tells us a lot about music and books through his characters. Whenever I read him I end up searching authors and musicians. I love how he uses these two in his stories.
So much happened in this book yet I will remember this book for its serenity and dreamlike story. Though he didn’t give us a conclusion here but I think this is the best way to end it. I don’t think a perfect ending is possible for this story. There will always be more “hows” and “buts”, so it’s better to let reader to create their own conclusion for this one.
A challenging but also an amazing read.
This was my third book by Mr. Murakami. 1Q84, I enjoyed but I don’t think I will be recommending it to anyone. Then came Norwegian Woods which I loved and have recommended to many friends. But Kafka on the Shore held a special place in the hearts of my friends who have read Murakami. This seems to be their favourite. So I went into this with high expectations, and Mr. Murakami did not disappoint.
Story starts with the divulgence of a high profile investigation that happened in second WW. Fast forward five decades and we are introduced to Kafka Tamura, a 15 year old, who runs away from his family to find the truth about himself. Few chapters after we met our second main character Nakata, a simpleton who talks to cats. After his retirement, Nakata survives by finding lost cats for people because of his special abilities. Even though they are miles apart from each other, and yet their story so intricately woven that it is hard to comprehend where one starts and the other ends.
For me, this was the weirdest magical realm that I have ever read. Fishes falling from the sky, talking to cats (is there a word for being able to talk to cats?), a man obsessed with the idea of creating a flute with the souls of cats, a man killing another man while the killer got away spotless, it was someone else woke up with a bloodied shirt miles away. I am sure any other time I would have DNFed something this weird but Mr. Murakami put a spell on me and I kept turning pages. The desire to know more about Kafka and Nakata and how their story entwines was too much.
Just like 1Q84 and Norwegian Woods, Murakami tells us a lot about music and books through his characters. Whenever I read him I end up searching authors and musicians. I love how he uses these two in his stories.
So much happened in this book yet I will remember this book for its serenity and dreamlike story. Though he didn’t give us a conclusion here but I think this is the best way to end it. I don’t think a perfect ending is possible for this story. There will always be more “hows” and “buts”, so it’s better to let reader to create their own conclusion for this one.
A challenging but also an amazing read.
August 27, 2021
عن الحب الذي لم نفهم له معنى ولم نجد له سببًا، عن خيبات الأمل التي لم نرتكب ذنبًا كي نعاني مرارتها، عن هؤلاء الذين يرحلون دون إيضاح أسباب الرحيل، وعن هؤلاء الذين يعطوننا الدفء والحنان دون مقابل، عن عبثية قراراتنا وجنون الحياة والبشر، عن الأرواح الخاوية التي تقضي أيامها تتسائل كيف السبيل إلى التئام جروح الروح، عن مرارة الهزيمة ونشوة الانتصار، عن الذكريات التي تبقينا أحياءً بعد أن نرحل، عن سر البسمة اللطيفة التي يفاجئنا بها أحدهم في الطريق دون سابق معرفة، عن كل لحظات الصمت التي نهرب إليها من قبح العالم، وعن كل سؤال تلقيناه فكان الجواب: لا أعلم، عن كل ذلك وأكثر كُتبت هذه الرواية، ولأن كل هذا يمر علينا دون أن نفهم أو ندرك معناه، كُتبت هذه الرواية أيضًا كي لا تُفهم، إنما كُتبت كي تًعاش، كي تُحس، كي تتغلغل بداخلك دون أن تشعر، فتعزيّك عن كل تلك الحيرة التي تنتابك تجاه حياتك، وتخبرك أنه من العبث أن تمضي حياتك في هذا العالم باحثا عن معنى كل شيء، فكما قال أوشيما: ما العالم سوى مجاز يا كافكا تامورا.
تمت
July 4, 2011
When I awoke, I realized I had slept through the night. But had it been a dream or not? It was impossible to tell. I got up, took a shower, brushed my teeth and shaved, paying special attention to my neck. When my face was again smooth and slightly pink from the razor, I went into the kitchen for breakfast.
I washed down an English muffin and jelly with two cups of strong black coffee, no sugar added, and walked out onto the balcony. The sun was still creeping higher in the sky, struggling to break through a heavy bank of clouds.
"It looks like a rather gloomy day," I said to no one in particular.
"I don't know about that," a voice said to my left.
I turned to see a small gray tabby cat, lounging on the next balcony over. Even without a sunbeam to sleep in, he seemed to already be enjoying what promised to be another gray, humid day.
"Oh, hello," I said, slightly surprised. I had never seen this cat before. "I thought I knew all of the cats around here. Where did you come from?"
"Who can say?" replied the cat. "I go where I want to, when I want to. I don't like to think about such things. It's how I prefer to live my life."
"I see," I replied. "Well, what is your name? It is easier for me to speak to you if I know your name."
"I don't have a name," the cat said. "Why should I? I don't need one."
"Well if you don't mind, I will call you Princess Sparkles," I said.
"If that makes things easier for you, though I am a boy," the cat said, yawning lazily. "You seem altogether too concerned with formalities for such an early morning. Why so serious?"
I studied Princess Sparkles with interest. He was a very astute judge of character. Or at least mood.
"You're right," I said. "I have been thinking of a strange dream I had last night and I am not sure I understand what it was all about. Would you like to hear about it?"
"If you like," Princess Sparkles said. "We cats aren't much for dreams. Our lives are so very interesting that we don't have much use for letting our imaginations wander during sleep."
"Well it was very strange," I said. "And it did involve cats. In the first part of the dream, I was a teenage boy, recently run away from home due to a possibly abusive father. After traveling solo for several days, I came across a quaint little library operated by an odd man and a woman who seemed very familiar. She reminded me of my mother, but then again, maybe she didn't. I was never quite sure on that score."
"I never knew my mother," interjected Princess Sparkles, stretching out a paw to bat at a passing ant.
"The odd man liked to talk about philosophy a lot, and music, and pencils, but a lot of that went over my head. When things got really obtuse was when he took me to an isolated cabin in the woods, where I started having vivid sexual dreams and visions of another world."
"Sounds fascinating," said the cat, eying a small squirrel crossing the telephone wire. "I haven't had much use for sex, either, but not having balls might have something to do with that."
As if to illustrate his point, Princess Sparkles quickly shifted position, stretching a leg over his head, and began to lick his crotch.
"Go on," he said, looking up at me. "I'm still listening."
"Well," I continued, "in the other part of my dream, I was this old man who was a bit slow-witted. I could still talk to cats, but I couldn't read. I was actually looking for a lost cat when I met an evil man who liked to kill cats quite brutally, cutting them open while they were still alive. It was quite horrific."
"We do have our enemies," Princess Sparkles said, again looking up from his washing. "Some people find us threatening. I suppose it is because we don't let them boss us around like mere dogs."
"So anyway, I killed this evil man, who was a product mascot, even though I didn't recognize him, not being a whiskey drinker, and then passed out, but when I woke up, there was no blood. I tried to tell the police but they wouldn't listen to me. But then I felt compelled to leave town, and hitched a ride with a truck driver who took me a couple towns over. We didn't do too much along the way but I knew I had to keep looking for something. The guy was really quite nice and interesting. Eventually we found that same library, and I talked with the woman and man, but the boy wasn't there. I wasn't sure if that was because he was another version of me or maybe because he was at the cabin. It was all very confusing. Like having nine lives, I bet."
Princess Sparkles eyed me angrily. "That is a myth," he said. "When I die, I am just as dead as you. People just say cats have nine lives to justify their ill treatment of us."
"That's probably true," I told him. "Lots of people don't like to think about the pain and suffering of others, especially animals. Continuing my dream, my truck driving friend found what we were looking for, which was this big rock, but I didn't really understand that part. The man from Kentucky Fried Chicken helped him. Colonel Sanders was also a pimp and set the truck driver up with a beautiful college student who quoted Hegel. Come to think of it, there were other sex parts in the dream that I forgot to mention. Quite a few, actually."
I continued my story, gazing out again at the overcast sky.
"The truck driver had to turn over the rock, which I think was the door to the underworld or limbo. Meanwhile, as the boy, I visited the underworld and met the ghost of the lady who worked at the library, even though she was still alive previously, or maybe not, because she was old and young at the same time. I left the strange place and in the other part of the dream, the truck driver turned over the rock again. There was a bunch of stuff about a painting, a UFO, song lyrics, jazz, time travel, a slug monster, war, death and memory too, but those parts are slipping away, even now."
I took a deep breath. Suddenly I felt more exhausted than I ever had in my entire life. "What do you think it means?" I asked, turning to the cat.
Princess Sparkles had fallen asleep.
--
"It's not something you can get across in words. The real response is something words can't express."
"There you go," Sada replies. "Exactly. If you can't get it across in words then it's better not to try."
"Even to yourself?" I ask.
"Yeah, even to yourself," Sada says. "Better not to try to explain it, even to yourself."
--
Facebook 30 Day Book Challenge Day 28: Last book you read.
I washed down an English muffin and jelly with two cups of strong black coffee, no sugar added, and walked out onto the balcony. The sun was still creeping higher in the sky, struggling to break through a heavy bank of clouds.
"It looks like a rather gloomy day," I said to no one in particular.
"I don't know about that," a voice said to my left.
I turned to see a small gray tabby cat, lounging on the next balcony over. Even without a sunbeam to sleep in, he seemed to already be enjoying what promised to be another gray, humid day.
"Oh, hello," I said, slightly surprised. I had never seen this cat before. "I thought I knew all of the cats around here. Where did you come from?"
"Who can say?" replied the cat. "I go where I want to, when I want to. I don't like to think about such things. It's how I prefer to live my life."
"I see," I replied. "Well, what is your name? It is easier for me to speak to you if I know your name."
"I don't have a name," the cat said. "Why should I? I don't need one."
"Well if you don't mind, I will call you Princess Sparkles," I said.
"If that makes things easier for you, though I am a boy," the cat said, yawning lazily. "You seem altogether too concerned with formalities for such an early morning. Why so serious?"
I studied Princess Sparkles with interest. He was a very astute judge of character. Or at least mood.
"You're right," I said. "I have been thinking of a strange dream I had last night and I am not sure I understand what it was all about. Would you like to hear about it?"
"If you like," Princess Sparkles said. "We cats aren't much for dreams. Our lives are so very interesting that we don't have much use for letting our imaginations wander during sleep."
"Well it was very strange," I said. "And it did involve cats. In the first part of the dream, I was a teenage boy, recently run away from home due to a possibly abusive father. After traveling solo for several days, I came across a quaint little library operated by an odd man and a woman who seemed very familiar. She reminded me of my mother, but then again, maybe she didn't. I was never quite sure on that score."
"I never knew my mother," interjected Princess Sparkles, stretching out a paw to bat at a passing ant.
"The odd man liked to talk about philosophy a lot, and music, and pencils, but a lot of that went over my head. When things got really obtuse was when he took me to an isolated cabin in the woods, where I started having vivid sexual dreams and visions of another world."
"Sounds fascinating," said the cat, eying a small squirrel crossing the telephone wire. "I haven't had much use for sex, either, but not having balls might have something to do with that."
As if to illustrate his point, Princess Sparkles quickly shifted position, stretching a leg over his head, and began to lick his crotch.
"Go on," he said, looking up at me. "I'm still listening."
"Well," I continued, "in the other part of my dream, I was this old man who was a bit slow-witted. I could still talk to cats, but I couldn't read. I was actually looking for a lost cat when I met an evil man who liked to kill cats quite brutally, cutting them open while they were still alive. It was quite horrific."
"We do have our enemies," Princess Sparkles said, again looking up from his washing. "Some people find us threatening. I suppose it is because we don't let them boss us around like mere dogs."
"So anyway, I killed this evil man, who was a product mascot, even though I didn't recognize him, not being a whiskey drinker, and then passed out, but when I woke up, there was no blood. I tried to tell the police but they wouldn't listen to me. But then I felt compelled to leave town, and hitched a ride with a truck driver who took me a couple towns over. We didn't do too much along the way but I knew I had to keep looking for something. The guy was really quite nice and interesting. Eventually we found that same library, and I talked with the woman and man, but the boy wasn't there. I wasn't sure if that was because he was another version of me or maybe because he was at the cabin. It was all very confusing. Like having nine lives, I bet."
Princess Sparkles eyed me angrily. "That is a myth," he said. "When I die, I am just as dead as you. People just say cats have nine lives to justify their ill treatment of us."
"That's probably true," I told him. "Lots of people don't like to think about the pain and suffering of others, especially animals. Continuing my dream, my truck driving friend found what we were looking for, which was this big rock, but I didn't really understand that part. The man from Kentucky Fried Chicken helped him. Colonel Sanders was also a pimp and set the truck driver up with a beautiful college student who quoted Hegel. Come to think of it, there were other sex parts in the dream that I forgot to mention. Quite a few, actually."
I continued my story, gazing out again at the overcast sky.
"The truck driver had to turn over the rock, which I think was the door to the underworld or limbo. Meanwhile, as the boy, I visited the underworld and met the ghost of the lady who worked at the library, even though she was still alive previously, or maybe not, because she was old and young at the same time. I left the strange place and in the other part of the dream, the truck driver turned over the rock again. There was a bunch of stuff about a painting, a UFO, song lyrics, jazz, time travel, a slug monster, war, death and memory too, but those parts are slipping away, even now."
I took a deep breath. Suddenly I felt more exhausted than I ever had in my entire life. "What do you think it means?" I asked, turning to the cat.
Princess Sparkles had fallen asleep.
--
"It's not something you can get across in words. The real response is something words can't express."
"There you go," Sada replies. "Exactly. If you can't get it across in words then it's better not to try."
"Even to yourself?" I ask.
"Yeah, even to yourself," Sada says. "Better not to try to explain it, even to yourself."
--
Facebook 30 Day Book Challenge Day 28: Last book you read.
December 3, 2025
Although translated from Japanese, this work pays homage to Western culture in its title and in its constant references to Greek mythology. Much of the plot is Oedipus. We also hear a lot about western music such as the Beatles, classic Hollywood films like Casablanca, and symbols of western consumerism such as Colonel Sanders and Johnny Walker.
A motherless teenage boy kills his despotic father and runs away. Well, maybe he did kill him, maybe he didn’t.
The boy hides out in a library and at a remote rural cottage. The runaway boy acquires a new best friend who is transgendered. Meanwhile the boy may or may not have had sex with not only his mother, but his long-lost sister as well.
The plot is propelled by magical realism. It rains fish, for example, so it’s hard to tell what is real and what is mythical.
Prophecy, fate, predestination and reincarnation are the themes in this book that the New Yorker characterized as “an insistently metaphysical mind-bender.” A bit slow at times, but it kept my interest.
With almost half-a-million ratings on GR, Kafka is Murakami’s second most popular book by ratings and reviews on GR. First is Norwegian Wood, then Kafka, Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and 1Q84. The first three of these are all highly rated on GR - above 4.0.
Haruki Murakam is one of my favorite authors and I have read many of his novels. Below are links to my reviews of some I enjoyed.
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage
Wind/Pinball: Two Novels
Sputnik Sweetheart
Norwegian Wood
South of the Border, West of the Sun
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
1Q84
Top photo from nbcnews.com
The author from japan-forward.com
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 25, 2021
Is Your Figure Less Than Greek?
Early in "Kafka on the Shore”, the 15 year old narrator, Kafka Tamura, warns us that his story is not a fairy tale. The book's title is also the name of a painting and of a song mentioned in the novel, and it describes the one photo Kafka's father has kept in his drawer. But what Kafka neglects to tell us is that his story is a myth of epic, ancient Greek proportions.
Murakami has concocted a contemporary blend of Oedipus and Orpheus, East and West, Freud and Jung, Hegel and Marx, Tales of Genji and Arabian Nights, Shinto and Buddhism, abstraction and action, alternating narratives and parallel worlds, seriousness and play, not to mention classical, jazz and pop music.
Conceived as a sequel to "Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World”, it quickly took on a life of its own, and now sits somewhere between that work and "1Q84”.
If you had to identify Murakami’s principal concerns as a writer, I would venture two: the transition from adolescence to adulthood, and the dynamic encounter between consciousness (the ego) and the subconscious (the id).
There are elements of both in "Kafka” . Thus, it stands as quintessential Murakami.
The book I read.
Search for the Other Half
Like Greek theatrical masks that represent tragedy and comedy, life consists of dualities: "Light and dark. Hope and despair. Laughter and sadness. Trust and loneliness.”
As hypothesised by Aristophanes via Plato, each individual is half what it once was . Our shadow is faint or pale. Murakami urges:
"You should start searching for the other half of your shadow.”
Beware of Darkness
Only, it’s easier said than done. We’re all "like some little kid afraid of the silence and the dark.”
We are "seeking and running at the same time.”
As in fairy tales, friends warn Kafka not to venture too far into the woods.
The irony is that the darkness is not so much outside, but inside. It’s in our subconscious. What terrifies us is "the inner darkness of the soul…the correlation between darkness and our subconscious”.
The woods, the forest are just a symbol of darkness, our own darkness.
In Dreams Begin Responsibility
While we’re awake, while we’re conscious, we think we’re rational, we’re in control, we can manage what happens around us.
However, we fear dreams, because we can’t control and manage them. By extension, we’re also skeptical of the imagination, because it is more analogous to dreaming than thinking.
Yet, we need our imagination almost as much as our logic. Murakami quotes Yeats:
"In dreams begin responsibility.”
It’s in this quandary that Kafka finds himself. It’s problematical enough for an adult, let alone a 15 year old who has lost contact with his mother and older sister at the age of four, and has now run away from his father:
"You're afraid of imagination. And even more afraid of dreams. Afraid of the responsibility that begins in dreams. But you have to sleep, and dreams are a part of sleep. When you're awake you can suppress imagination. But you can't suppress dreams.”
For the Time Being
As would befit a Greek tragedy, Kafka’s father, a renowned sculptor, has prophesied:
"Some day you will murder your father and be with your mother…and your sister.”
This is the Oedipus myth, at once a curse and a challenge for Kafka:
"You're standing right up to the real world and confronting it head-on.”
We can only stand by and watch. What is happening? Does it really happen? Does it only happen in the labyrinth of Kafka’s imagination? Is the boy called Crow Kafka’s friend or his soul? Is the old man Nakata a real person or his alter ego?
If Kafka can only prevail, he will become an adult. If nothing bad happens to him, he’ll emerge part of a brand new world.
It’s not enough for Kafka to spend the time being. He must act.
Reason to Act
Of course, there is a cast of surreal cats, crows and characters who contribute to the colour and dynamic of the novel.
One of my favourites is a Hegel-quoting whore (a philosophy student who might both feature in and read the novels of Bill Vollmann!), who counsels:
"What you need to do is move from reason that observes to reason that acts."
Although the protagonists of Murakami's novels are youthful, if not always adolescent, they are rarely in a state of stasis or arrested development. They're always endeavouring to come to terms with the past and embrace the future:
"The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future."
We observe them when their lives are most challenging and dynamic, in short, when they're trying to find and define themselves:
"Every object's in flux. The earth, time, concepts, love, life, faith, justice, evil - they're all fluid and in transition. They don't stay in one form or in one place for ever."
My photo of the artwork on a power box I pass every day on my walk.
If I Run Away, Will My Imagination Run Away With Me, Too?
Murakami’s ideas about imagination, dreams and responsibility are fleshed out in a scene that adverts to the Nazi Adolf Eichmann.
The character Johnnie Walker kills cats, so that he can turn them into flutes. He challenges Nakata to kill him to save the cats. Nakata now has a moral dilemma as to whether to kill a person to save the lives of others .
Eichmann was the builder rather than the architect behind the design of the Holocaust. He was an officious conformist who lived and worked routinely without imagination. Hannah Arendt would describe him and his capacity for evil in terms of its banality. Others would call him a “Schreibtischmörder” or “desk murderer”.
In Murakami’s eyes, responsibility is part morality, but it also reflects an empathy with others, a transcendence of the self. Eichmann was too selfish and too conformist to empathise with the Jews he was trying to exterminate.
A Catastrophe is Averted by Sheer Imagination
After an accident in World War II, Nakata realised that he could talk to cats. Ultimately, he empathised with them enough to kill Johnnie Walker.
In Shinto, cats might be important in their own right. However, Murakami frequently uses cats in his fiction. Perhaps they represent other people in society, people we mightn't normally associate with or talk to, but who watch over us and might perhaps be wiser than us, if only we would give them credit?
Murakami also criticised two women bureaucrats who visited the library for their officious presumption and lack of imagination, albeit in a good cause.
For Murakami, the imagination is vital to completing the self, bonding society and oiling the mechanisms by which it works, but it is also an arena within which the psychodrama of everyday life plays out and resolves.
Inside the Storm
So what can I tell you about Kafka’s fate? Only what Murakami tells us on page 3:
"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm...is you. Something inside of you.
"So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in...There's no sun..., no moon, no direction, no sense of time…[in] that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm…
"And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
Unless you’re a total Murakami sceptic, when you close this book for the last time, you too won’t be the same person who walked in.
http://www.deviantart.com/fanart/?vie...
VERSE:
Kafka in the Rye (Or Catcher on the Shore)
Kafka sees a ghost,
One he’ll soon love most,
Somehow he has learned
She has just returned
Home from sailing by
Seven seas of Rhye.
If only Kafka
Could one day catch her,
Dressed, in the rye or,
What he’d like much more,
How his heart would soar,
Catch her on the shore,
Idly walking by,
Naked to the eye.
Swept Away
[In the Words of Murakami]
I am swept away,
Whether I like it or not,
To that place and time.
Where There Are Dreams
[In the Words of Murakami]
The earth moves slowly.
Beyond details of the real,
We live our dreams.
Metaphysician, Heal Thyself
[In the Words of Murakami]
You can heal yourself.
The past is a shattered plate
That can't be repaired.
The Burning of Miss Saeki's Manuscript
[In the Words of Murakami]
Shape and form have gone.
The amount of nothingness
Has just been increased.
Look at the Painting, Listen to the Wind
[In the Words of Murakami]
You did the right thing.
You're part of a brand new world.
Nothing bad happened to you.
SOUNDTRACK:
Early in "Kafka on the Shore”, the 15 year old narrator, Kafka Tamura, warns us that his story is not a fairy tale. The book's title is also the name of a painting and of a song mentioned in the novel, and it describes the one photo Kafka's father has kept in his drawer. But what Kafka neglects to tell us is that his story is a myth of epic, ancient Greek proportions.
Murakami has concocted a contemporary blend of Oedipus and Orpheus, East and West, Freud and Jung, Hegel and Marx, Tales of Genji and Arabian Nights, Shinto and Buddhism, abstraction and action, alternating narratives and parallel worlds, seriousness and play, not to mention classical, jazz and pop music.
Conceived as a sequel to "Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World”, it quickly took on a life of its own, and now sits somewhere between that work and "1Q84”.
If you had to identify Murakami’s principal concerns as a writer, I would venture two: the transition from adolescence to adulthood, and the dynamic encounter between consciousness (the ego) and the subconscious (the id).
There are elements of both in "Kafka” . Thus, it stands as quintessential Murakami.
The book I read.
Search for the Other Half
Like Greek theatrical masks that represent tragedy and comedy, life consists of dualities: "Light and dark. Hope and despair. Laughter and sadness. Trust and loneliness.”
As hypothesised by Aristophanes via Plato, each individual is half what it once was . Our shadow is faint or pale. Murakami urges:
"You should start searching for the other half of your shadow.”
Beware of Darkness
Only, it’s easier said than done. We’re all "like some little kid afraid of the silence and the dark.”
We are "seeking and running at the same time.”
As in fairy tales, friends warn Kafka not to venture too far into the woods.
The irony is that the darkness is not so much outside, but inside. It’s in our subconscious. What terrifies us is "the inner darkness of the soul…the correlation between darkness and our subconscious”.
The woods, the forest are just a symbol of darkness, our own darkness.
In Dreams Begin Responsibility
While we’re awake, while we’re conscious, we think we’re rational, we’re in control, we can manage what happens around us.
However, we fear dreams, because we can’t control and manage them. By extension, we’re also skeptical of the imagination, because it is more analogous to dreaming than thinking.
Yet, we need our imagination almost as much as our logic. Murakami quotes Yeats:
"In dreams begin responsibility.”
It’s in this quandary that Kafka finds himself. It’s problematical enough for an adult, let alone a 15 year old who has lost contact with his mother and older sister at the age of four, and has now run away from his father:
"You're afraid of imagination. And even more afraid of dreams. Afraid of the responsibility that begins in dreams. But you have to sleep, and dreams are a part of sleep. When you're awake you can suppress imagination. But you can't suppress dreams.”
For the Time Being
As would befit a Greek tragedy, Kafka’s father, a renowned sculptor, has prophesied:
"Some day you will murder your father and be with your mother…and your sister.”
This is the Oedipus myth, at once a curse and a challenge for Kafka:
"You're standing right up to the real world and confronting it head-on.”
We can only stand by and watch. What is happening? Does it really happen? Does it only happen in the labyrinth of Kafka’s imagination? Is the boy called Crow Kafka’s friend or his soul? Is the old man Nakata a real person or his alter ego?
If Kafka can only prevail, he will become an adult. If nothing bad happens to him, he’ll emerge part of a brand new world.
It’s not enough for Kafka to spend the time being. He must act.
Reason to Act
Of course, there is a cast of surreal cats, crows and characters who contribute to the colour and dynamic of the novel.
One of my favourites is a Hegel-quoting whore (a philosophy student who might both feature in and read the novels of Bill Vollmann!), who counsels:
"What you need to do is move from reason that observes to reason that acts."
Although the protagonists of Murakami's novels are youthful, if not always adolescent, they are rarely in a state of stasis or arrested development. They're always endeavouring to come to terms with the past and embrace the future:
"The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future."
We observe them when their lives are most challenging and dynamic, in short, when they're trying to find and define themselves:
"Every object's in flux. The earth, time, concepts, love, life, faith, justice, evil - they're all fluid and in transition. They don't stay in one form or in one place for ever."
My photo of the artwork on a power box I pass every day on my walk.
If I Run Away, Will My Imagination Run Away With Me, Too?
Murakami’s ideas about imagination, dreams and responsibility are fleshed out in a scene that adverts to the Nazi Adolf Eichmann.
The character Johnnie Walker kills cats, so that he can turn them into flutes. He challenges Nakata to kill him to save the cats. Nakata now has a moral dilemma as to whether to kill a person to save the lives of others .
Eichmann was the builder rather than the architect behind the design of the Holocaust. He was an officious conformist who lived and worked routinely without imagination. Hannah Arendt would describe him and his capacity for evil in terms of its banality. Others would call him a “Schreibtischmörder” or “desk murderer”.
In Murakami’s eyes, responsibility is part morality, but it also reflects an empathy with others, a transcendence of the self. Eichmann was too selfish and too conformist to empathise with the Jews he was trying to exterminate.
A Catastrophe is Averted by Sheer Imagination
After an accident in World War II, Nakata realised that he could talk to cats. Ultimately, he empathised with them enough to kill Johnnie Walker.
In Shinto, cats might be important in their own right. However, Murakami frequently uses cats in his fiction. Perhaps they represent other people in society, people we mightn't normally associate with or talk to, but who watch over us and might perhaps be wiser than us, if only we would give them credit?
Murakami also criticised two women bureaucrats who visited the library for their officious presumption and lack of imagination, albeit in a good cause.
For Murakami, the imagination is vital to completing the self, bonding society and oiling the mechanisms by which it works, but it is also an arena within which the psychodrama of everyday life plays out and resolves.
Inside the Storm
So what can I tell you about Kafka’s fate? Only what Murakami tells us on page 3:
"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm...is you. Something inside of you.
"So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in...There's no sun..., no moon, no direction, no sense of time…[in] that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm…
"And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
Unless you’re a total Murakami sceptic, when you close this book for the last time, you too won’t be the same person who walked in.
http://www.deviantart.com/fanart/?vie...
VERSE:
Kafka in the Rye (Or Catcher on the Shore)
Kafka sees a ghost,
One he’ll soon love most,
Somehow he has learned
She has just returned
Home from sailing by
Seven seas of Rhye.
If only Kafka
Could one day catch her,
Dressed, in the rye or,
What he’d like much more,
How his heart would soar,
Catch her on the shore,
Idly walking by,
Naked to the eye.
Swept Away
[In the Words of Murakami]
I am swept away,
Whether I like it or not,
To that place and time.
Where There Are Dreams
[In the Words of Murakami]
The earth moves slowly.
Beyond details of the real,
We live our dreams.
Metaphysician, Heal Thyself
[In the Words of Murakami]
You can heal yourself.
The past is a shattered plate
That can't be repaired.
The Burning of Miss Saeki's Manuscript
[In the Words of Murakami]
Shape and form have gone.
The amount of nothingness
Has just been increased.
Look at the Painting, Listen to the Wind
[In the Words of Murakami]
You did the right thing.
You're part of a brand new world.
Nothing bad happened to you.
SOUNDTRACK:
April 15, 2017
اینقدر که کتابش رو دوست داشتم یکدفعه که تموم شد واقا دلم خواست به جای نوشتن با موبایل , لپ تاپم رو روشن کنم و به یاد قدیما که خیلی چیزا مینوشتم , با انگشت هام ریویو رو تایپ کنم ... یک جایی توی آپدیت های دیشب گفتم یک جور بیماری هیجان هراسی دارم :)) خنده ی حضار ! :)) برای همین خیلی طول کشید تا این کتاب پرهیجان رو تمومش کنم چون هروقت به نقطه ی اوج میرسید من میذاشتمش کنار و تپش قلب میگرفتم :)) باز هم خنده ی حضار :)) خلاصه به هر سختی ای بود به این بیماری غلبه کردم و این اثر خاص موراکامی رو هم تمومش کردم ....
تعریف شخصی من از کتاب : خیلی جاهای کتاب اصلا نمیشد حدس زد اتفاق بعدی چی میتونه باشه یا این دو شخصیت موازی داستان کجا به هم میرسن , در واقع موراکامی ذهن من یکی رو خیلی خوب بازی داد چون اصلا هیچ کجای کتاب مطابق حدس من پیش نرفت ! حتی آخرش که منتظر خیلی چیزها بودم که نشد ! و تقریبا عجیب و یا حتی برعکس روند رمان , کمی ساده تر تمومش کرد جوری که آدم با خودش میگفت با این همه دردسر اخرش این شد ؟! اصلا چرا شد ؟! از این نظر کتاب خاصی بود و به قول دوستان حس هفتمم داشته باشی نمیتونی حدسم بزنی داستان تو رو به کجا میبره و این واقعا برای من درست از آب در اومد ... به نظرم کسی که مثل من موراکامی رو دوست داشته باشه و بدونه موراکامی اجازه میده قلمش برای خودش بلغزه و پیش بره در حالیکه واقعا نقشه ی ذهنی خاصی برای متن داستان نداره , تنها کسانی که این رو بدونن میتونن 607 صفحه از کتاب رو بخونن و در آخر نگن آخیش تموم شد ! در عوض از تموم شدنش لذت ببرن و حس رفع وظیفه نداشته باشن و ...
نقد : یک جاهایی زیادی همه چیز تخصصی میشد ! موسیقی و سبک هاش و نوازندگان یا کلمات نا آشنای تخصصی و اسم های شخصیت های کتاب های مختلف و نویسنده هاشون که هرچند قابل تحمل بود و رنگی به روند کتاب میداد ولی گاهی از خودم میپرسم این اضافات و اظهار فضل ها نبود چی از کتاب میمونست ؟ شاید یه چهارصد پانصد صفحه یا کمتر ... هرچند جدای از نقد این قسمت , برای یک شخص واقعا کتاب خون این بخش هم زیاد آزار دهنده نیست و به چشم اضافه شدن چیزی به معلوماتش دیده و خوانده میشه ...
لپ کلام : به لیست کتاب های مورد علاقم اضافه شد , دلیل اولم اینکه موراکامی عزیزم نوشتتش , دم اینکه جدای از تعصب سر اسم موراکامی , کتاب جذابی بود و تونستم در کنارش کمی مرض هیجان گریزیم رو هرچند خیلی کم , ولی همونقدر محسوس کنار بگذارم و کتاب رو به اتمام برسونم ... پیشنهاد میکنم اگر حال و حوصله ی یک کتاب نسبتا قطور تقریبا هیجان انگیز که اصلا طبق حدس های شما پیش نمیره و دارای یک سبک خاص هست رو دارید حتما بخونیدش و مثل من کند هم پیش نرید , یک ضرب بخونید تا مزه اش رو یکدفعه حس کنید و تپش قلب بگیرید ...
تعریف شخصی من از کتاب : خیلی جاهای کتاب اصلا نمیشد حدس زد اتفاق بعدی چی میتونه باشه یا این دو شخصیت موازی داستان کجا به هم میرسن , در واقع موراکامی ذهن من یکی رو خیلی خوب بازی داد چون اصلا هیچ کجای کتاب مطابق حدس من پیش نرفت ! حتی آخرش که منتظر خیلی چیزها بودم که نشد ! و تقریبا عجیب و یا حتی برعکس روند رمان , کمی ساده تر تمومش کرد جوری که آدم با خودش میگفت با این همه دردسر اخرش این شد ؟! اصلا چرا شد ؟! از این نظر کتاب خاصی بود و به قول دوستان حس هفتمم داشته باشی نمیتونی حدسم بزنی داستان تو رو به کجا میبره و این واقعا برای من درست از آب در اومد ... به نظرم کسی که مثل من موراکامی رو دوست داشته باشه و بدونه موراکامی اجازه میده قلمش برای خودش بلغزه و پیش بره در حالیکه واقعا نقشه ی ذهنی خاصی برای متن داستان نداره , تنها کسانی که این رو بدونن میتونن 607 صفحه از کتاب رو بخونن و در آخر نگن آخیش تموم شد ! در عوض از تموم شدنش لذت ببرن و حس رفع وظیفه نداشته باشن و ...
نقد : یک جاهایی زیادی همه چیز تخصصی میشد ! موسیقی و سبک هاش و نوازندگان یا کلمات نا آشنای تخصصی و اسم های شخصیت های کتاب های مختلف و نویسنده هاشون که هرچند قابل تحمل بود و رنگی به روند کتاب میداد ولی گاهی از خودم میپرسم این اضافات و اظهار فضل ها نبود چی از کتاب میمونست ؟ شاید یه چهارصد پانصد صفحه یا کمتر ... هرچند جدای از نقد این قسمت , برای یک شخص واقعا کتاب خون این بخش هم زیاد آزار دهنده نیست و به چشم اضافه شدن چیزی به معلوماتش دیده و خوانده میشه ...
لپ کلام : به لیست کتاب های مورد علاقم اضافه شد , دلیل اولم اینکه موراکامی عزیزم نوشتتش , دم اینکه جدای از تعصب سر اسم موراکامی , کتاب جذابی بود و تونستم در کنارش کمی مرض هیجان گریزیم رو هرچند خیلی کم , ولی همونقدر محسوس کنار بگذارم و کتاب رو به اتمام برسونم ... پیشنهاد میکنم اگر حال و حوصله ی یک کتاب نسبتا قطور تقریبا هیجان انگیز که اصلا طبق حدس های شما پیش نمیره و دارای یک سبک خاص هست رو دارید حتما بخونیدش و مثل من کند هم پیش نرید , یک ضرب بخونید تا مزه اش رو یکدفعه حس کنید و تپش قلب بگیرید ...
January 7, 2008
Really?
What just happened? Who? What? I’m sorry, what?
This is how it starts:
“You’re going to love this book.” Someone says to someone else. “I loved this book, and I know you’re going to love this book.”
Someone said this to my friend, and she read the book, and she thought, “eh.”
But there were more people out there. They love this book! This book is the book that will change everything! If they were to build a time machine and travel back in time with several copies of this book, and if they were to give copies of this book to Abraham, Sarah, Hagar, Isaac, and Ishmael then there would be absolutely no problems in the Middle East. There would be no homeless. Unicorns would run free through fields of grass. We’d all have universal health care.
“A friend of mine gave me this book. Matt really likes this book. Joe really likes this book. I thought it was ‘eh’. But maybe you’ll like it.” She said as she handed me the book.
So I read it. And I’m inclined to agree with the woman who gave it to me. It’s “eh”. Kafka is a young kid looking for something that’s been missing in his life. It maybe his mother, but that’s really just a metaphor. Then there’s this simpleton old man who can talk to cats. Then there’s this secret world in the mountains. Then there’s a magical stone. Then Godzilla, then a comet hits Mars and we all grow a third arm. I felt as if the story spiraled out of control, maybe. I think part of the problem is that Karuki Murakami doesn’t write in English, and I can’t read Japanese, and while I’m sure Philip Gabriel is a perfectly nice man, and can translate Japanese into English perfectly well, I still felt like there was something lost in the translation while reading the book. So, IF I were to suggest you read this book, I would first suggest you learn to read Japanese, then maybe spend some years in Japan. Then read the book. Then write me and tell me what you thought of it. Cause for me- it’s a little too metaphor-y, and at the end of the book, all I could think was, “Really?”
What just happened? Who? What? I’m sorry, what?
This is how it starts:
“You’re going to love this book.” Someone says to someone else. “I loved this book, and I know you’re going to love this book.”
Someone said this to my friend, and she read the book, and she thought, “eh.”
But there were more people out there. They love this book! This book is the book that will change everything! If they were to build a time machine and travel back in time with several copies of this book, and if they were to give copies of this book to Abraham, Sarah, Hagar, Isaac, and Ishmael then there would be absolutely no problems in the Middle East. There would be no homeless. Unicorns would run free through fields of grass. We’d all have universal health care.
“A friend of mine gave me this book. Matt really likes this book. Joe really likes this book. I thought it was ‘eh’. But maybe you’ll like it.” She said as she handed me the book.
So I read it. And I’m inclined to agree with the woman who gave it to me. It’s “eh”. Kafka is a young kid looking for something that’s been missing in his life. It maybe his mother, but that’s really just a metaphor. Then there’s this simpleton old man who can talk to cats. Then there’s this secret world in the mountains. Then there’s a magical stone. Then Godzilla, then a comet hits Mars and we all grow a third arm. I felt as if the story spiraled out of control, maybe. I think part of the problem is that Karuki Murakami doesn’t write in English, and I can’t read Japanese, and while I’m sure Philip Gabriel is a perfectly nice man, and can translate Japanese into English perfectly well, I still felt like there was something lost in the translation while reading the book. So, IF I were to suggest you read this book, I would first suggest you learn to read Japanese, then maybe spend some years in Japan. Then read the book. Then write me and tell me what you thought of it. Cause for me- it’s a little too metaphor-y, and at the end of the book, all I could think was, “Really?”
January 7, 2010
رواية عن مراهق ياباني محب للقراءة هرب من منزله و المدرسة... و تتقاطع هذه القصة مع قصة رجل ياباني مسن معاق ذهنيا يحدّث القطط... و كثير من الأحداث الغريبة المتداخلة مع بعضها... و كثير من الحديث عن الموسيقى و الأدب و الكتب و الفلسفة و الحياة و اللاوعي و الأحلام
أجواء القصة غرائبية و فنتازية... و الحبكة بحد ذاتها مشوقة جدا... و جدير بالذكر أيضا أن الترجمة متقنة
أنهيت صفحاتها السبعمئة في أقل من ثلاث أيام... بيد أني فور إنهائها شعرت بأنها اختفت... و كأني لم أقرأ شيئا... فهي لم تولد فيّ أي فكرة من اي نوع... و كأنها فقاعة صابون ملونة و كبيرة تراقصت أمام ناظريّ ثم فُقعت و تلاشت في الفراغ من دون أن تخلف أثرا... ربما لأن النهاية لم تفضِ إلى شيء... و كأن فلسفته هي اللاشيء... فما تركت عندي إلا اللاشيء لأتحدث عنه... و لكن العزاء أنه لاشيءٌ ممتعٌ
و ليس من المفاجئ قول أن الرواية ليست محتشمة، فهذا أمر صار من الانتشار بحيث بات واحدنا يستغرب من وجود رواية محتشمة للأسف... بيد أن هذه الرواية بالذات فيها مرض ما... و كأن هناك عقدة نقص تستسترونية من نوع ما تشي بها الكلمات
بأية حال ربما توقع شيء من الاحتشام في عالم غير محتشم أصلا كتوقع وجود رجل جميل كأمير دوستويفسكي "مشكين" في عالمنا هذا دون أن ينعتوه بالأبله
الأكيد أني لن أقرأ له ثانية، إذ القراءة له نوع من العبث
و ليس هناك وقت كثير لهدره على العبث
أجواء القصة غرائبية و فنتازية... و الحبكة بحد ذاتها مشوقة جدا... و جدير بالذكر أيضا أن الترجمة متقنة
أنهيت صفحاتها السبعمئة في أقل من ثلاث أيام... بيد أني فور إنهائها شعرت بأنها اختفت... و كأني لم أقرأ شيئا... فهي لم تولد فيّ أي فكرة من اي نوع... و كأنها فقاعة صابون ملونة و كبيرة تراقصت أمام ناظريّ ثم فُقعت و تلاشت في الفراغ من دون أن تخلف أثرا... ربما لأن النهاية لم تفضِ إلى شيء... و كأن فلسفته هي اللاشيء... فما تركت عندي إلا اللاشيء لأتحدث عنه... و لكن العزاء أنه لاشيءٌ ممتعٌ
و ليس من المفاجئ قول أن الرواية ليست محتشمة، فهذا أمر صار من الانتشار بحيث بات واحدنا يستغرب من وجود رواية محتشمة للأسف... بيد أن هذه الرواية بالذات فيها مرض ما... و كأن هناك عقدة نقص تستسترونية من نوع ما تشي بها الكلمات
بأية حال ربما توقع شيء من الاحتشام في عالم غير محتشم أصلا كتوقع وجود رجل جميل كأمير دوستويفسكي "مشكين" في عالمنا هذا دون أن ينعتوه بالأبله
الأكيد أني لن أقرأ له ثانية، إذ القراءة له نوع من العبث
و ليس هناك وقت كثير لهدره على العبث
August 27, 2026
kafkaesque
(reading for a substack post)
(reading for a substack post)
August 6, 2025
This is the second Murakami book I've read, after Norwegian Wood.
I rarely read long fiction, but I was genuinely excited while reading this one.
Once I got through the first few chapters, I couldn’t put it down.
I enjoyed the book because it kept me eager to uncover what would happen next and how the story would end.
Murakami is incredibly creative and imaginative, especially when it comes to writing mystery and science fiction.
I’m now starting to collect more of his books. 👍📚
I rarely read long fiction, but I was genuinely excited while reading this one.
Once I got through the first few chapters, I couldn’t put it down.
I enjoyed the book because it kept me eager to uncover what would happen next and how the story would end.
Murakami is incredibly creative and imaginative, especially when it comes to writing mystery and science fiction.
I’m now starting to collect more of his books. 👍📚
May 10, 2007
No wonder Kafka on the Shore was on the New York Times "10 Best Books of 2005" list. It's one of the most engaging and magical pieces of literature I've read. Reality is unclear. The book presses the boundaries of what exists around the characters versus what exists in their minds. Powerful forces guide the characters--some known, some unknown. Odd things happen within the context of everyday Japan. Mackarel rains from the sky. A metaphysical overseer appears under the guise of Colonel Sanders; a villian under the guise of Johnny Walker. The forest contains ghosts. Everyday objects suddenly take on supernatural functions.
Fifteen-year-old Kafka Tamura runs away from home and finds himself in Takamastu, where he discovers a charming, privately owned public library to spend his days until things get complicated. Turns out the events in his life--and possibly even his body--is intralinked with a man named Nakata. When Nakata was a child during World War II, a mysterious force in a field put him and several other schoolchildren in a coma, but Nakata's mind was the only one erased entirely. As an adult, though mentally challenged, he has the ability to communicate with cats (along with several other larger-than-life talents). Surreal forces draw Nakata, all which relate to Kafka Tamura's world.
The desk assistant at the library, who immediately befriends Kafka, often references mythology--these references all end up being manifestations of the characters and the plot itself. Because of this, in many ways the book mirrors the spirit of Franz Kafta's works(how intentional these associations are by Murakami, I'm not sure).
I was drawn to this book for the mood that it presented. It opened my imagination and set my spirit spinning with possibilities and ideas. It's rare to find a story with this effect. The prose, as always by Murakami, grabs you from the get-go--it's charming, smooth, and intelligent without being pretentious. An amazing read.
Fifteen-year-old Kafka Tamura runs away from home and finds himself in Takamastu, where he discovers a charming, privately owned public library to spend his days until things get complicated. Turns out the events in his life--and possibly even his body--is intralinked with a man named Nakata. When Nakata was a child during World War II, a mysterious force in a field put him and several other schoolchildren in a coma, but Nakata's mind was the only one erased entirely. As an adult, though mentally challenged, he has the ability to communicate with cats (along with several other larger-than-life talents). Surreal forces draw Nakata, all which relate to Kafka Tamura's world.
The desk assistant at the library, who immediately befriends Kafka, often references mythology--these references all end up being manifestations of the characters and the plot itself. Because of this, in many ways the book mirrors the spirit of Franz Kafta's works(how intentional these associations are by Murakami, I'm not sure).
I was drawn to this book for the mood that it presented. It opened my imagination and set my spirit spinning with possibilities and ideas. It's rare to find a story with this effect. The prose, as always by Murakami, grabs you from the get-go--it's charming, smooth, and intelligent without being pretentious. An amazing read.
July 16, 2010
So, yeah, I don't really understand this book.
It is not often that I admit a book has defeated me intellectually; upon the rare occasion that it happens, however, I will admit it. This review is, like any review, a meditation on the unique experience I had reading the book, but it is also ruminations about why I feel that Kafka on the Shore is a mountain whose summit I never reached.
I'm starting to suspect that I have a penchant for magic realism. On one hand, the term smacks of genre-snobbery, a label that authors or critics use to avoid consigning a book to the ghettoized fantasy section of the bookstore. On the other hand, the term is seductive. It represents a flirtation with the fantastic that, when done well, forces the mind to reconcile contradictory realities. Think The Enchantress of Florence or The City & The City . Fantasy is the outright alteration of the laws of physics; magic realism is the collision of physics with the other, as well as the appropriation of the laws of narrative for the characters' own purposes. Kafka on the Shore exemplifies the headache-inducing experience of a well-executed piece of magic realism. It seems, unfortunately, that this was a little too much for my poor mind to handle.
Wired as it is to unravel fact and fiction, my mind constantly tugs me toward the question of, "How much of what happens in the book is meant to be considered 'real events' and how much is a delusion or metaphor?" But I don't think that question is correct—or at least, the way it is formulated seems to imply a separation of the real from the metaphorical is possible. Maybe it is not; therein lies the headache.
Example time. Late in the book, Kafka has a dream that might not be a dream in which he has sex with Sakura, a young woman who might or might not be his long-lost (adopted) sister. Kafka's search for his mother and sister, who left home when he was a child, is a major part of the book, one that deserves heavy discussion itself. This particular scene troubled me. It was more confusing than disturbing. While clearly starting as a dream, the language sometimes made it sound like it was a dream dialogue—Kafka and Sakura were sharing a dream, in which they had sex. I think it's possible to interpret it either way—nothing later in the book seems to contradict either interpretation. What I cannot place is the metaphorical significance of this scene, though I am certain one exists.
Central to the problem is the so-called "Oedipal prophecy" handed to Kafka by his estranged (or merely strange?) father, who may or may not be a cat-murdering flute-carver posing as a conceptual imitation of Johnnie Walker. When he leaves home, one of Kafka's objectives is to find his mother and sister, though he has no information about them, no names, just a photograph of the family at the beach. Now, Kafka is fifteen years old and makes it clear that his hormones are right on track for a boy his age. So when he starts entertaining sexual fantasies of Sakura, who is about the right age to be his sister, he has to wonder if she is his sister. Receiving an actual hand-job from Sakura later in the book does not simplify matters. Still, there are mitigating factors: despite his fantasies, we don't actually have confirmation that Kafka ever has intercourse with Sakura. And even if she is his sister, she was adopted, so the incest taboo's squick-factor is lessened.
No such comforts exist for Kafka's relationship with Miss. Saeki. Like Sakura, we never find out if Miss. Saeki truly is Kafka's mother (I would argue that the implication for the affirmative is stronger here than in Sakura's case, but I think Murakami deliberately left it ambiguous). Unlike Sakura, Kafka does have sex with Miss. Saeki—first in a dream-like but real episode which Miss. Saeki does not remember, then subsequently in a deliberate episode that they both, at least at first, regret. Although Kafka dreads his father's prophecy, and although his operating theory is that Miss. Saeki is his mother, he still decides to sleep with her.
I don't know; thanks to John Irving (particularly A Widow for One Year ), the whole motif of older women having sex with younger men disturbs me. By motif I mean that the actual idea of such of a relationship does not disturb me, but the use of it in literature, particularly as a device for ending a character's innocence, does disturb me. Kafka seems very nonchalant about his relationship with Miss. Saeki—not exactly resigned, but not reticent either. This analytical, calm aspect extends to his personality in general: aside from some notable exceptions, such as when he wakes up with blood on his shirt, Kafka is a mellow individual. He does not rage. He just accepts and thinks. It is fine for a character but odd for a fifteen-year-old boy, and it makes Kafka feel a bit less real. (There I go using those loaded terms again.)
Oh, and there is a whole other side to this book that I have yet to mention: Sakuro Nakata. I have to confess that I preferred much of Nakata's story over Kafka's (with the exception of the Johnnie Walker chapter). Nakata and Kafka both have a similar acceptance of events as they happen, but Nakata seems to have more will than Kafka, who spends most of his time moping around the library and listening to a record. Nakata takes up a traditional-style quest, leaves the only home he has ever known, falls in with a companion (some might say disciple) and experiences change. Conversely, Kafka strikes off on his own immediately, but he shies away—leaving the forest—from any final fate. Nakata gains peace; Kafka matures.
Nakata's encounter with Johnnie Walker causes me as many headaches as Kafka's dream about Sakura. Are we supposed to equate Johnnie Walker with Kafka's father? I don't know. Johnnie Walker and Colonel Sanders seem like two sides of the same coin, a self-identified concept that can assume forms but not manifest in any physical way. If that is the case, then Nakata could not possibly have killed Johnnie Walker—but perhaps Johnnie Walker is a concept connected somehow to Kafka's father, and killing the concept killed the man. See? Metaphysical dilemmas for which Murakami has no answers.
Not that I'm demanding answers. Books that seek to provide an answer to every little question end up laden with excess exposition. Moreover, Kafka on the Shore is not a straightforward narrative, and that is probably for the best. Murakami has taken a standard literary fiction plot, that of the adolescent runaway, but instead of exploring it on the standard plane, he takes it into higher dimensions. Still, there are some questions that really irk me. Exactly what does the "Crow" character represent? Part boy, part bird, all a figment of Kafka's imagination . . . there's probably an essay somewhere in here about "representations of anthropomorphic animals in Kafka on the Shore," if someone has not written one already . . . but I digress.
No, the reason I feel somewhat defeated is because I can't seem to settle on any consistent set of interpretations to the symbols Murakami has left in his wake. It is frustrating, because I can recognize the intensity of Kafka on the Shore, but I cannot celebrate it. The metaphors add depth to the story, yet my inability to parse them prevents them from turning the narrative into a coherent whole. In short, I read the book, but I did not really get the book. Nor is it that there is, in fact, nothing to get; Kafka on the Shore is not a con (well, no more than any fiction book is). I get just enough to glimpse enlightenment and know it exists, but I can't quite achieve it.
One day I hope I will find more in this book than the first time. I often find that, with difficult books, sometimes multiple readings are the only thing one needs—that and the time to grow, to change, to be a different person from the one who read the book the first time. Future Ben may see the subtleties of Kafka on the Shore with greater clarity than this version of me, and he might life at my incomprehension (or, hopefully, not).
So I cannot leave you with my impression of this book's literary merit (what does that even mean?). However, as the parenthetical question in my previous sentence indicates, I can say that, if it did not provide me with many answers, Kafka on the Shore did provoke me into asking more questions. This is not a book that fits into a comfortable niche, either for the purposes of comprehension or for criticism. We need books like that, even if we don't entirely know what to make of them.
It is not often that I admit a book has defeated me intellectually; upon the rare occasion that it happens, however, I will admit it. This review is, like any review, a meditation on the unique experience I had reading the book, but it is also ruminations about why I feel that Kafka on the Shore is a mountain whose summit I never reached.
I'm starting to suspect that I have a penchant for magic realism. On one hand, the term smacks of genre-snobbery, a label that authors or critics use to avoid consigning a book to the ghettoized fantasy section of the bookstore. On the other hand, the term is seductive. It represents a flirtation with the fantastic that, when done well, forces the mind to reconcile contradictory realities. Think The Enchantress of Florence or The City & The City . Fantasy is the outright alteration of the laws of physics; magic realism is the collision of physics with the other, as well as the appropriation of the laws of narrative for the characters' own purposes. Kafka on the Shore exemplifies the headache-inducing experience of a well-executed piece of magic realism. It seems, unfortunately, that this was a little too much for my poor mind to handle.
Wired as it is to unravel fact and fiction, my mind constantly tugs me toward the question of, "How much of what happens in the book is meant to be considered 'real events' and how much is a delusion or metaphor?" But I don't think that question is correct—or at least, the way it is formulated seems to imply a separation of the real from the metaphorical is possible. Maybe it is not; therein lies the headache.
Example time. Late in the book, Kafka has a dream that might not be a dream in which he has sex with Sakura, a young woman who might or might not be his long-lost (adopted) sister. Kafka's search for his mother and sister, who left home when he was a child, is a major part of the book, one that deserves heavy discussion itself. This particular scene troubled me. It was more confusing than disturbing. While clearly starting as a dream, the language sometimes made it sound like it was a dream dialogue—Kafka and Sakura were sharing a dream, in which they had sex. I think it's possible to interpret it either way—nothing later in the book seems to contradict either interpretation. What I cannot place is the metaphorical significance of this scene, though I am certain one exists.
Central to the problem is the so-called "Oedipal prophecy" handed to Kafka by his estranged (or merely strange?) father, who may or may not be a cat-murdering flute-carver posing as a conceptual imitation of Johnnie Walker. When he leaves home, one of Kafka's objectives is to find his mother and sister, though he has no information about them, no names, just a photograph of the family at the beach. Now, Kafka is fifteen years old and makes it clear that his hormones are right on track for a boy his age. So when he starts entertaining sexual fantasies of Sakura, who is about the right age to be his sister, he has to wonder if she is his sister. Receiving an actual hand-job from Sakura later in the book does not simplify matters. Still, there are mitigating factors: despite his fantasies, we don't actually have confirmation that Kafka ever has intercourse with Sakura. And even if she is his sister, she was adopted, so the incest taboo's squick-factor is lessened.
No such comforts exist for Kafka's relationship with Miss. Saeki. Like Sakura, we never find out if Miss. Saeki truly is Kafka's mother (I would argue that the implication for the affirmative is stronger here than in Sakura's case, but I think Murakami deliberately left it ambiguous). Unlike Sakura, Kafka does have sex with Miss. Saeki—first in a dream-like but real episode which Miss. Saeki does not remember, then subsequently in a deliberate episode that they both, at least at first, regret. Although Kafka dreads his father's prophecy, and although his operating theory is that Miss. Saeki is his mother, he still decides to sleep with her.
I don't know; thanks to John Irving (particularly A Widow for One Year ), the whole motif of older women having sex with younger men disturbs me. By motif I mean that the actual idea of such of a relationship does not disturb me, but the use of it in literature, particularly as a device for ending a character's innocence, does disturb me. Kafka seems very nonchalant about his relationship with Miss. Saeki—not exactly resigned, but not reticent either. This analytical, calm aspect extends to his personality in general: aside from some notable exceptions, such as when he wakes up with blood on his shirt, Kafka is a mellow individual. He does not rage. He just accepts and thinks. It is fine for a character but odd for a fifteen-year-old boy, and it makes Kafka feel a bit less real. (There I go using those loaded terms again.)
Oh, and there is a whole other side to this book that I have yet to mention: Sakuro Nakata. I have to confess that I preferred much of Nakata's story over Kafka's (with the exception of the Johnnie Walker chapter). Nakata and Kafka both have a similar acceptance of events as they happen, but Nakata seems to have more will than Kafka, who spends most of his time moping around the library and listening to a record. Nakata takes up a traditional-style quest, leaves the only home he has ever known, falls in with a companion (some might say disciple) and experiences change. Conversely, Kafka strikes off on his own immediately, but he shies away—leaving the forest—from any final fate. Nakata gains peace; Kafka matures.
Nakata's encounter with Johnnie Walker causes me as many headaches as Kafka's dream about Sakura. Are we supposed to equate Johnnie Walker with Kafka's father? I don't know. Johnnie Walker and Colonel Sanders seem like two sides of the same coin, a self-identified concept that can assume forms but not manifest in any physical way. If that is the case, then Nakata could not possibly have killed Johnnie Walker—but perhaps Johnnie Walker is a concept connected somehow to Kafka's father, and killing the concept killed the man. See? Metaphysical dilemmas for which Murakami has no answers.
Not that I'm demanding answers. Books that seek to provide an answer to every little question end up laden with excess exposition. Moreover, Kafka on the Shore is not a straightforward narrative, and that is probably for the best. Murakami has taken a standard literary fiction plot, that of the adolescent runaway, but instead of exploring it on the standard plane, he takes it into higher dimensions. Still, there are some questions that really irk me. Exactly what does the "Crow" character represent? Part boy, part bird, all a figment of Kafka's imagination . . . there's probably an essay somewhere in here about "representations of anthropomorphic animals in Kafka on the Shore," if someone has not written one already . . . but I digress.
No, the reason I feel somewhat defeated is because I can't seem to settle on any consistent set of interpretations to the symbols Murakami has left in his wake. It is frustrating, because I can recognize the intensity of Kafka on the Shore, but I cannot celebrate it. The metaphors add depth to the story, yet my inability to parse them prevents them from turning the narrative into a coherent whole. In short, I read the book, but I did not really get the book. Nor is it that there is, in fact, nothing to get; Kafka on the Shore is not a con (well, no more than any fiction book is). I get just enough to glimpse enlightenment and know it exists, but I can't quite achieve it.
One day I hope I will find more in this book than the first time. I often find that, with difficult books, sometimes multiple readings are the only thing one needs—that and the time to grow, to change, to be a different person from the one who read the book the first time. Future Ben may see the subtleties of Kafka on the Shore with greater clarity than this version of me, and he might life at my incomprehension (or, hopefully, not).
So I cannot leave you with my impression of this book's literary merit (what does that even mean?). However, as the parenthetical question in my previous sentence indicates, I can say that, if it did not provide me with many answers, Kafka on the Shore did provoke me into asking more questions. This is not a book that fits into a comfortable niche, either for the purposes of comprehension or for criticism. We need books like that, even if we don't entirely know what to make of them.
June 19, 2015
أحببت طبقات المعنى التي يصنعها موراكامي. اسم الشخصية كافكا، وكافكا بالألمانية تعني غراب، والشخصية لها ظلٌ مرافق، أو صديق متخيّل، أو ربما ذات منشطرة أخرى "الفتى الذي يدعى كرو" وكرو.. هو أيضًا غراب، وعندما تستحضر كافكا في نصّك فهذا يعني أنك تستحضر الفرد الذي يجابه النظام، في حين يبدو الأمر مع موراكامي.. مثل الفرد الذي يجابه اللا نظام. وهذا يعيدنا إلى ألس وبلاد العجائب، والقطط التي تتكلم في الرواية تذكرنا بهذا أيضًا.. وهكذا فإن قراءة هذا الكتاب أمرٌ يشبه قراءة مكتبة، وهي مغامرة جديرة بوقتك حتمًا.
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